


the two of us

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 71
Words: 49,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10018553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: a collection of drabbles and ficlets based on tumblr prompts





	1. waffles

**Author's Note:**

> So, for reasons I’m not going to go into now, I decided to go on an indefinite fandom break. This includes reading, writing, vidding, making edits, etc. (which is the reason I haven’t updated _the storm_ in a while, if anyone was wondering).
> 
> The thing is that I really don’t want to disconnect entirely, and I do want to ease back into it. So, I figured writing some drabbles or ficlets might be a good way to get back into the writing game. And I've been really enjoying it so far, so let's hope I'll soon feel up to coming back 'full time' again.

Carol’s bare feet move silently down the hallway, dust dancing in the beams of the early morning sun that falls in through the open windows. It should smell like spring – morning dew and the first blossoming flowers, the damp green of the trees outside. It should, but it doesn’t. Instead, she breathes in the scent of coffee and baking, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she listens to the voices coming from the kitchen. They blend with the song of the birds and the gentle breeze of the wind, the long curtains kissing her bare ankles, tickling her pale skin.

“Told ya it ain’t enough milk.”

“Well, you spilled it all.”

“After I told ya. ’s gonna be bone ass dry.”

“Swear jar!”

Carol suppresses a giggle at Daryl’s frustrated grunt, tying the knot of her robe around her middle a little tighter. She stops in the door frame, leaning her shoulder against the worn wood. The sight in front of her is a heartwarming mess.

Sophia is kneeling on the edge of a chair, pushed all the way up to the counter. The powder blue apron she’s wearing is much too tall, swallowing her as she inspects a spoonful of dough. Bare feet with pink toenails move along to the tune she’s humming to herself.

Daryl seems less cheerful – not that he’d be humming songs even if he was. Wearing a grim expression to compliment his well worn sweat pants and faded t-shirt, he pokes at a small stack of waffles with a fork. “Ain’t nothin’ fluffy ‘bout ‘em.”

Carol catches a glimpse of her recipe book, propped up on the counter – the butcher’s block covered in flour and splashes of milk, bunched up paper towels, and berries scattered on a cutting board.

“We’ll just put more whipped cream on them,” Sophia suggests, turning to look at Daryl.

“Mommy!” Her eyes widen and she freezes mid-turn, still clutching the spoon in her hand. Then, quickly, disappointment washes over her features – blue eyes and pink, freckles cheeks. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, I am surprised.” Carol offers her daughter a bright smile, but it’s not quite enough.

“We wake ya?” Daryl asks, wiping his hands on a towel and slowly making his way towards her. He’s a little better at hiding his disappointment, but it does shine through the cracks in the facade. Carol shakes her head, knowing they’ll both feel even worse if she admits that a loud thud that surely originated from the kitchen stirred her from her sleep.

Daryl smells of freshly brewed coffee when he leans in and presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, lingering there. “Happy birthday,” he murmurs, his warm fingers briefly dancing down the length of her arm. The innocent touch sends a shiver down the length of her spine.

“But it was supposed to be breakfast in bed,” Sophia explains with a frustrated huff as she climbs down from the chair, nearly tripping on the bunching, stiff fabric of the apron and the too long hem of her pink pajama pants. Her daughter’s disappointment makes Carol wonder how long these two have been cooking up this idea.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Sophia sighs a little dramatically before her face breaks into a bright smile. “Happy birthday, Mommy!”

The little girl dashes across the room and the hug nearly sends Carol stumbling backwards on the cool tiles. As she presses a kiss to the crown of her daughter’s head, she doesn’t miss Daryl’s small grin. Even after all their years together, the sight of it still takes her breath away. It took a lot of hard work to get to this point. To happy smiles and joyful hugs and messy breakfasts. It took time, sweat and tears but here they are. Together.

“So, I hear there are waffles?”

In the end, whipped cream, fresh strawberries, her daughter’s proud grin and Daryl’s thumb brushing crumbs off her lips are more than enough to make up for the dry waffles. The sheets beneath them are still warm, the windows of the bedroom wide open, sun beams tickling their skin.

It’s perfect.


	2. jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: jealous!daryl with a touch of fluffy awkwardness

“So, Lori told me about this new diner down on Quarry Lane,” Carol says, absent-mindedly twirling her pen between her fingers and distracting him from the essay he’d already been too bored with to come up with anything decent. “Maybe we could try it out this weekend?”

A smile curls her lips, all bright and happy, the bridge of her nose scrunching up just a tiny bit. It’s distracting and also mean because he _can’t_ stare, doesn’t have the right to. “Ain’t ya gonna let Peletier take ya there?” he asks, silently cursing himself for sounding so spiteful. He’s tired, that’s all.

Carol’s excitement instantly turns into confusion and she straightens her shoulders. “What? No. Of course not. Why?”

He sighs. Course he’d get himself into this mess. He should’ve just kept his damn mouth shut. “Just…” Now he doesn’t know what to say without sounding like a real jerk and so he stares down at his half-assed essay instead.

“Daryl?” Carol’s voice is soft, undemanding and not sounding nearly as mad at him as she should be.

“The two o’ ya seem pretty cozy lately.” He hadn’t meant to bring it up. All the swooning and dreamy eyes and coffee dates. Really. Carol can do whatever the hell she wants to do with whomever she wants. Doesn’t change the fact that Ed Peletier is a damn asshole and he’s worried about her.

When he looks up, Carol looks a little exasperated. “We went out _once_ ,” she reminds him, dropping her pen and crossing her bare, freckled arms in front of her chest. “It wasn’t even all that great.”

She’d told him that after. Usually, he’s gotten pretty good at reading her, but then last weekend, he saw the two of them tucked away in a corner at Rick’s birthday party. Kissing. And fuck if that hadn’t felt like a blow to the guts. “Saw ya at Rick’s party, ya know?” he says quietly, shifting his weight on Carol’s mattress, the school books and papers scattered between them useless now.

“Oh,” Carol breathes, her face falling. For some reason, she looks guilty. Clears her throat. Tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “That was- It wasn’t all that great, either.” She’s quick to dismiss it, staring down at her lap, legs crossed and a book balanced on her thigh. “Anyway, I’m not going there with him.”

“He busy this weekend?” Daryl snorts, trying to make light of the mess he got them into. Sure as hell ain’t Carol’s problem that the sight of her with someone else is making him feel like shit.

She rolls her eyes, throws her pen at him. It weakly meets his arm before tumbling down onto the bed. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks with a soft shake of her head, but then something gleams in her eyes that he knows too well. “Are you jealous?”

Her tone is soft and playful, like she has no clue just how true her words are. Cause he _is_ , damn it. Much as he hates to admit it. But how can he not be with her all soft and pretty and kind and funny? So close and always out of his reach because why would she bother with him like _that_? It’s a miracle she’s even friends with him and he should be grateful for that instead of desperately begging for more.

He huffs, his cheeks flaming. “Course I ain’t. ’s none o’ my business.” That’s one lie and one truth and he hopes she buys it.

But of course she doesn’t. Her eyes soften a little and the corner of her mouth curls up ever so slightly. “You _are_ jealous.” He’s ready to deny it again and again but she’s quicker than him, eyes casting downwards for a second in an almost shy way before she speaks again. “That’s sweet.”

“Ain’t sweet, either.” She shouldn’t be thinking that. He’s being an ass, that’s what this is. But she seems determined and Daryl feels his body freezing when she rises up to her knees, the book falling down with a soft thud, and then she’s leaning over towards him.

His breath hitches in his throat, eyes wide and then all he sees is the pink of her lips and the rosy glow on her own cheeks as she whispers to him. “Yes you are.”

The kiss she presses to his cheek is feather light, fleeting. Barely lasts a second before she quickly pulls away, eyes full of surprise at her own boldness. His skin still tingles with the echo of her touch, and he has to stop himself from reaching up to touch the pads of his fingers to the spot.

“Stop,” he mutters instead, and the single word earns him a sweet laugh. The sound of that means _everything_.


	3. don't touch her

“What happened? She okay?” Daryl’s voice hollers through the rundown house. His heavy footsteps set an angry rhythm that matches the pounding of his heart.

He’d heard a scream. Someone calling her name. A loud crash, the sound of a body hitting the ground. He nearly stumbles now as he crashes through the door, too many people gathered at the bottom of the stairs, kneeling, leaning over, tugging this way and that at the body laying limply by their feet. “Get away from'er!”

Rick has finally caught up with him, putting a hand to his shoulder that Daryl shrugs off instantly. “Daryl, they’re trying to help!”

He doesn’t care. They’re only making things worse for all he knows. “Don’t touch her!” he repeats, and slowly they are backing off, revealing Carol on the floor, eyes closed. “The hell happened here?” He falls down on his knees by her side, not even feeling the pain of the impact. Too afraid to touch her, his hands hover over her shoulder, her elbow, her cheeks. She’s breathing, he can tell, and he can’t see any blood. Any bites.

But she is wrapped up in layers and layers of clothes like all of them.

Looking up, he stares at the others, waiting for a response. They all look weary, and Beth has tears in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she finally speaks. “We were checking the closets for blankets and- and there was-” Horror crosses her face and she points upstairs. He turns, his stomach falling when he sees the rotten corpse draped over the last few steps, blood trickling down the thick carpet. “She killed it but… But her knife got stuck and she fell.”

Maggie curls her arms around her sister then, comforting her for something that wasn’t her damn fault.

“Down them stairs?” He feels sick just imagining it, and all the countless _what ifs_ are running through his mind, digging in their sharp claws. “Fuck. Carol?” Leaning down further, he feels the warmth of her breath on his cheek. “Ya hear me? Carol come on,” he urges, ever so softly nudging her shoulder. “Damn it, where’s Hershel?”

She needs help, someone who has at least a little clue what to do, not a bunch of them tugging her around like a fucking rag doll. “Outside,” Glenn answers, looking down at him with an odd expression.

Daryl doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into them all today, why they’re all standing there gaping instead of doing something. “Well, get him!”

It’s T-Dog who hurries away then, quick on his feet.

“Daryl?” The soft whisper of his name tears Daryl’s eyes away from the open front door. Instantly, he looks down, his heart skipping a beat when Carol’s eyes flutter open slowly.

“Hey, hey, easy,” he says quietly, pressing one hand to her shoulder to keep her still and the other coming up to cup her cheek, warm and soft. “Don’t move, all right?”

Her forehead furrows but she stays still, eyes struggling to focus. “Why are you yelling?” she asks, sounding a little disoriented, her voice hazy.

“’s all right, sweetheart,” he reassures her, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. It hurts just to think she might be scared, in pain. Cold. It’s cold now that T left the front door open, a gust of icy wind sending shivers down his spine. “Ya gonna be fine.” He shifts his body to shelter her a little from the cold.

Carol takes a few deep breaths, her chest rising and falling evenly before she speaks again. This time, she is looking up at him, her blue eyes curious. “Sweetheart?” Only now does he realize what he said, his cheeks flaming instantly. “Did I hit my head?”

Someone chuckles next to them and he wants to disappear into the ground. “Stop,” he mutters, pulling his hand away from her cheek and looking down at the dusty floor boards instead. “Y'all right?”

“I think so.” He can hear the smile in her voice.


	4. polaroid

He finds the unscathed polaroid camera out on a run with Aaron. Takes it back home for her because he thinks she might enjoy it.

(aaron just smiles knowingly, the way he always does when daryl pockets something they both know nobody really needs. a particular book, a paper flower, a necklace.)

Carol accepts it with the same shy smile she always does, cheeks turning just the slightest shade rosier, pressing a soft kiss to his lips and breathing _thank you_ into his skin.

 

Sometimes, she does take pictures with it. Judith napping on her brother’s lap. Daryl and Rick holding a bottle of beer each, leaning against the brand new watch tower with sweat pearling on their foreheads. Daryl working on the bike. The cake they bake for Judith’s birthday. That one time he walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, hair wet and disheveled (he nearly made her tear that one up, tackling her to the bed and gently poking her ribs until she was breathless).

She captures big moments. Small moments. Cherishes them that way.

 

But in the end, Daryl is the one who uses the camera the most. To cherish _her_. Always her.

 

Carol making coffee in the morning, the early sunlight kissing her cheeks (wishing he could capture the smell of her when he nuzzles his nose into her neck).

Carol holding Maggie’s newborn son with dampness in her blue eyes (wishing he could capture the baby’s soft sounds).

Carol smiling at something Tara told her, holding her stomach, nose scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut (wishing he could capture the elation that radiates from her like sun beams).

Carol waking up in the morning, hazy with sleep, burying her head in the soft pillow (wishing he could capture the slight giggle when he presses a kiss to the base of her spine).

Carol in a red dress he brought her from a run, smoothing her palms over the fabric (wishing he could capture the shy pride in her every move).

Carol making a snow angel with Judith, flakes melting on her skin (wishing he could capture the crystal clear cold on his cheeks).

 

One morning, the sun just barely rising outside and tinting their room in a rosy glow, she lets him take pictures of her after they make love. When she’s still flushed and her skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat, her eyes dark.

He captures it all. The way her lips are parted on a content sigh. Pink and swollen. The way the sunrise gathers in the hollows of her collarbones. His hand splayed like a star in the valley between her breasts. The contrast of white sheets against her porcelain thighs. The curve of her waist. Her feet entangled with his. Her silver hair, damp and curly around her ears. Their entwined hands against the plane of her stomach.

He follows every picture with a kiss. Lips mapping her out even though he already knows her by heart.

 

“These better never see the light of day,” Carol teases with a smirk, tilting her chin towards the pictures scattered on the ruffled sheets. “Or I’ll take a picture of you while y- Oh!” Her hands curl tighter around his upper arms when he moves into her again, the camera long forgotten, and he silences her with a kiss that lingers.

“Promise,” he breathes eventually, the feeling of her skin against his almost enough to make him forget how to speak. The pictures are theirs alone.

 

He does keep one picture on him at all times, tucked into the pocket of his vest. He took it the day he brought home the camera. Half of her face is hidden behind her hand, a shy smile curling her lips, cheeks dimpled. It’s his favorite.

She looks so happy. Happy enough to fool anyone that she never endured any pain. It’s a rare version of her that he works hard to bring back to the surface. And some days – days like that one – he succeeds. He’ll keep it with him until the day it fades and beyond.

Although these days, he has her, and doesn’t need mementos anymore.

But over time, they have all learned to cherish them.


	5. freedom

She feels free. So free that her chest might burst from it, too full, too content.

The rush of the wind mingles with the thunder of the engine, loud enough to silence every nagging thought she usually can’t be free of. Right here and now, there is no room to dwell on the people they’ve lost and the choices she had to make.

Her short, silver curls flutter in the wind, making her feel light as a feather.

Around them, overgrown fields rush past in luscious green and gold basking in the summer sun. They pass abandoned houses that look like they’ve been taken out of a worn storybook, some whimsical, some haunted.

With an inaudible sigh, she presses her cheek to Daryl’s back. The leather of his vest is coarse and cracked and a worn wing leaves indentations on her flushed skin. But she only burrows further into him, tightening the grasp of her arms around his middle. For a brief moment he tenses, his broad shoulders stiffening before he relaxes again.

A smile curls her lips in response, slight and shy. They still don’t come easily to her.

Flattening her hands against his stomach, she feels the warmth of him soaking through his shirt and into her palms, her pulse picking up speed from the onslaught of sensation. His warmth, the cool breeze wrapping around them, the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The insides of her thighs press into the outside of his, an odd sort of embrace.

Her heart skips a beat when he lifts one of his hands, covering her own with it. Calloused and warm, familiar by now. She could draw the lines of his palms from memory, having traced them over and over. Mapping them out like little rivers, always lingering on his lifeline – too short.

But she pushes the thought away, breathes in the scent of him – leather and smoke and motor oil. Lazily lifts her thumb to brush over the back of his hand. Presses a firm kiss between his shoulder blades that she isn’t sure he can even feel through the thick leather.

She remembers riding on the bike with him before. Long ago, during that merciless winter on the road. Back then, she hadn’t ever felt free. She’d felt cold, exposed, and yet at the same time she’d felt safer than anywhere else at the time.

As different as everything is now, that much hasn’t changed.


	6. 2027

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: the winter of the year 2027

“Please don’t go.” Carol hates herself for saying it, but as she watches Daryl buttoning up his shirt she can’t keep it in any longer. Sitting on the edge of their bed, she presses her hands flat against the sheets, grounding herself.

Daryl’s brows furrow a little, his fingers fumbling with the last few buttons before he looks up at her. “Promised Maggie I’d help with the cows. ’s too damn cold for them to be outside.” He tells her this matter-of-factly even though she already knows it, and she sighs in frustration, picking at a loose seam on her pajama pants.

“I know, but why can’t someone else do it?” she asks, watching as he buckles up his belt, the leather worn and cracked and threatening to break apart.

He scoffs a little, lips lifting into a smirk. “Ya sayin’ I don’t know how to handle them cows?”

“Oh, I know you do,” she reassures him, forcing herself to smile at his effort to make a joke. It’s not the first time he has helped with the animals over at Hilltop, but even though she knows how much he enjoys it she’d rather have him stay here today, safe and warm and by her side. “But I’m sure someone else can do it just fine. Maggie shouldn’t have asked you to in the first place.”

Daryl finally seems to notice that something isn’t quite right, setting down the boots he’d been about to put on and eyeing her with caution. “’s the matter with ya?”

“Nothing,” Carol breathes, feeling silly for bringing this up. Even after all these years of calling Alexandria their home, he still spends so much time beyond the walls, hunting, scavenging, going on some of those month long supply runs she dreads so much, traveling back and forth between the other communities. He needs to be out there and she knows that, but today, she needs him to stay here with her.

“Carol.” He says her name with a hint of accusation, knowing fully well that there’s more to her attempt at talking him out of this short trip.

She sighs in defeat, lifting herself off the bed. As she stands, her bare feet sink deeply into the thick carpet in front of their bed. “I’m worried,” she confesses, his face remaining unaffected. He knows this, would be a fool not to. “It’s so cold out there and your back- You were supposed to rest.”

He’d overworked himself last week on the new classroom, and had paid for it with a week of bed rest that nearly drove him – and her – insane. “Ain’t gonna carry the cows, ya know?” He smirks again, and she knows that he is trying to make light of this for her sake.

The smile she gives him doesn’t quite reach her eyes but it’s all she has in her at the moment. “Shut up,” she mutters, reaching across the distance between them to lightly slap his arm. “Point is, Maggie should have asked someone else. Not an old man.”

Daryl’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open a little. “Old man?” he repeats, and already Carol can feel a genuine chuckle bubbling in her chest. “Ya gonna take that back.”

She looks him up and down slowly and on purpose, from his worn socks up his skinny legs and narrow hips, over his chest and up to his face, beard speckled in gray just like his hair. “No,” she quips, crossing her arms defiantly in front of her chest.

He looks a little dumbfounded and she has to fight hard to contain her laughter. Then, something shifts, and a look suddenly crosses his face that reminds her of a stubborn little boy. “Guess I won’t be bringing ya back any butter then. Know we’re low on it.” The short pause he leaves is long enough for her mouth to drop. “No baking.”

“That’s unfair,” she exclaims, knowing fully well there’s enough butter left in their own fridge for her to bake with, or that she could just replace it. But the fact that he’d planned on bringing her more makes her heart flutter a little, and warmth spreads through her veins.

He takes a step closer to her, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Take it back then,” he demands, and Carol takes a step backwards, her legs bumping into the edge of the bed. Daryl looks almost menacing if she didn’t know just how innocent he really is, and he’s obviously struggling to maintain a straight face.

“No,” she insists, pursing her lips as she tries to hold back a grin. But her composure doesn’t last long when Daryl takes a wide step forward and she falls backwards onto the bed, his body pressing her into the mattress. “Daryl!” she yelps, her legs falling open for him to settle into the cradle of her thighs, his hands next to either side of her head.

“Old people do this?” he murmurs, sending a shiver down her spine when his breath tickles her lips. He’s so close, their hips pressed together, her breasts grazing his chest with every heavy breath she takes.

“I guess,” she breathes, failing entirely at sounding unaffected. He snorts, pressing his lips to hers in a firm but short kiss before rolling off her. She doesn’t miss the groan he tries to hide when he lands on his back.

She curls into his side and he welcomes her without pause, wrapping an arm around her. “Bring me back some butter?” she asks quietly, looking up at him with her chin propped against his chest. Her hand is splayed over his heart, feeling the steady _thud thud thud_ that sings her to sleep every night.

Daryl smiles softly, a rare sight even now. “Maybe,” he whispers, cupping her cheek in his free hand, a calloused thumb tracing her cheekbone.

With a sigh, Carol leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut. “I wish the world hadn’t run out of chocolate,” she muses, trying to remember the last time she made chocolate chip cookies. It must have been years and years ago, and she can barely remember the taste of it now. For a long time, Daryl had tried to find more for her, but whatever he did come across had long gone bad.

“’m sorry.” He’s got nothing to apologize for but she smiles all the same, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his beard tickling her lips. She still doesn’t want him to go, would much rather spend the day like this, curled up in bed. Deep down, she knows he would stay if she truly asked him to. He’d do anything.

She wants it to be his choice, though. And no matter how many winters have passed since it all began, he’s always come back to her. She’ll have to believe in that – hopefully for many more winters to come.


	7. sunday morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a lazy sunday morning

She’s barely awake, sleep still clinging desperately to her. With her eyes closed, she burrows deeper into the soft cushions, relishing in the warmth of the bed. Something tickles her neck, gentle and tender and she hums in response, leaning back into the touch.

“Mornin’.” The raspy, sleep-riddled voice makes her smile, and she wonders for a moment if she’s still dreaming. But the damp breath against her pulse point and the warm chest pressing against her back feel all too real.

Slowly, she allows her eyes to flutter open, a hint of sunlight bathing the room in a hazy glow, the thick curtains keeping most of it outside. “What time is it?” she asks, her voice hoarse and unwilling to do much work.

“Mornin’,” Daryl repeats, pressing a kiss behind her ear. Even though her body still feels like lead, a shiver runs down her spine, setting low in abdomen as a warm glow.

She chuckles lightly, nudging her elbow back into Daryl’s ribs. “Shut up.”

His lips curl into a smile against her skin, fingers skimming across her rib cage. “Ain’t time to go yet,” he murmurs, his nose nuzzling the crook of her neck.

It feels so good to be wrapped up in each other, but her body already feels restless. There is so much to do today. Every day. “I think it is,” she says with a sigh, tugging a little at Daryl s arm. “Come on.” She tries to urge him out of bed, but he is stronger than her, easily keeping her down.

“Nah. Come ‘ere.” He scoots back a little, pulling her with him until she is flat on her back, his hand splayed over her stomach, fingertips grazing the undersides of her breasts.

“Daryl,” she breathes, looking at him with a disapproving expression.

“Let’s stay here,” Daryl suggests, ignoring her. He buries his face against her throat, feathering light kisses there. “Like Sunday mornin’.”

She laughs softly at that, craning her neck against her better judgment to give him more room. “It’s not Sunday,” she reminds him, the last word ending on a sigh when he sucks ever so slightly at her pulse point.

“It might be.”

His hand sneaks around to her waist, holding her there as he props himself up on one elbow to lean over her. “True,” she whispers, cupping his cheek and feeling the stubble of his beard against her palm.

“End of the world’s gotta have some perks. Can be Sunday whenever the hell we want it to be.” His lips are just barely grazing hers, and she arches her back, eager to feel him against her properly.

“Since when are you so lazy?” she asks with a laugh, barely recognizing this version of Daryl when usually he is up at the crack of dawn, always restless.

His eyes darken slightly, sending a jolt of electricity through her veins. “Ain’t like I plan on doin’ nothin’.”

With a smirk, Carol moves her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, curling her fingers into the silky strands of his hair. “I think I like where this is going.”


	8. how could you love me?

“I love ya.”

The three words linger in the space between them, heavy and suffocating. There’s so much honesty in his eyes - glistening with tears - that it only makes the words hurt more. Like daggers they slice through Carol’s heart, over and over with every weak beat it makes.

“Don’t,” she croaks, her voice failing her. Arms wrap around herself to shield her from the storm that’s raging silently in the dimly lit room, the dandle light casting obscure shadows on the walls. “Don’t say that.”

She’d expected him to be hurt, for his already meager confidence to be shattered. Instead, he doesn’t even look surprised. “Why?” he asks, his voice breaking, giving away just for a second how much it cost him to say the words at all. Of course she knew all along. For a long time. But she’d always hoped he wouldn’t figure it out, that he’d refuse to fall victim to what he feels.

“Cause it’s not-” They’re at a crossroad and she doesn’t know which path to take. None of them are easy, and he’ll get hurt no matter what. That, however, is the one thing she needs to prevent. “Because you shouldn’t,” she finally says, trying to sound determined, her voice coming out cold. Harsh. Daryl’s face is so soft, though, raw and vulnerable that it breaks her brittle resolve instantly. She sighs, looking down at the worn wooden floor. “After everything I’ve done, how could you love me?”

He’d taken her confession in silence. Without judgment. Deep down, she’d known that he wouldn’t push her away for any of it - that every choice she made had to be made. Still, a part of her - ugly and malicious - had hoped he’d despise her for it the way she does herself. Instead, she’d only seen understanding in his eyes. Felt reassuring and comfort in the embrace he so willingly offered. Her body fought it, the relief. It fought and fought but in the end she was too tired, only a shell of who she used to be and so she let go. Let him hold her and almost believed him when he told her that she did nothing wrong. That she made the only choices she could have.

“I just do,” Daryl replies, taking two quick steps to breach the distance between them and with the table behind her she has nowhere to go. He towers over her but she’s not afraid of him, never has been. His hand - calloused and warm - reaches for hers, lifts it to his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart beats frantically. “Y'aint what you think y'are. Not to me,” he breathes hoarsely, his thumb drawing circles against the back of her hand. It might feel soothing, if she allowed it. But she can’t.

“What I am to you?” Her voice is full of defeat, and she feels almost as if Daryl’s hand alone is holding her upright in this moment. Every fiber of her body is slack, unwilling to keep standing. He can feel it, of course he can. There’s never been a single moment he misread her. He sighs, deeply and broken, and wraps his arms around her until she has nowhere to go but to curl herself around him, too.

His lips press to the crown of her head, a kiss so tender that it makes her heart stutter.

“Everythin’.”


	9. slow dancing

He smells of smoke, leather and soap. Carol breathes it in deeply, her cheek pressed to his heart. Warm hands hold her waist, fingers brushing lazily up and down.

She has her own arms curled around his shoulders, feeling the rise and fall of his rib cage with each breath. It makes her wonder what she smells like to him, with his chin resting on the crown of her head.

Their bodies sway softly, back and forth and from side to side. Bare feet are planted on the ground, the soft carpet giving in to their weight. There is no music to dance to, no rhythm to guide them. Maybe it is easier this way. He’d refused to dance earlier at the wedding, staying stubbornly in his chair with a bottle of lukewarm beer.

Now, in the shelter of their bedroom, he makes up for it. He didn’t have to. But maybe he’d seen her eyeing Rick and Michonne swaying over the makeshift dance floor in their living room, a longing tugging at her heart that rendered her melancholic.

“Ya look beautiful,” he rasps suddenly, breaking the silence. She smiles, nuzzling closer to him. She does feel beautiful here in his arms, bare feet and a soft, burgundy dress. It feels special, different. Almost like a polished dream.

Slowly, she runs her fingers up the back of his neck, feeling him shudder against her, his body stuttering and nearly coming to a halt. But she keeps guiding him through their dance, careful not to startle him.

In the end, he’s the one to startle her.

He pulls away just barely, enough to look down at her. Candle light basks his features in an orange glow, blue eyes holding her gaze before he leans down to press his lips to hers. Softly, almost shy. It feels like a first kiss even though it’s not, and Carol feels for a moment like they are younger, like the world is whole. Like they’ve been given a second chance.

“Marry me,” he breathes against her lips and her eyes flutter open in surprise. His own are frightful, flickering up and down and eventually finding enough courage to hold her gaze. “Wanna marry you.”

Her heart flutters in her chest like a swarm of butterflies, and she notices that their bodies have stopped moving. Frozen, they stand pressed against one another.

Then, slowly, her lips curl into a smile. “Yes.”

Tears dwell in her eyes when his tension visibly eases and he kisses her again. It’s messier this time, full of joyful excitement and more like their actual first kiss was. Her heart feels so full, the dream so complete that she doesn’t bother holding back her tears. They catch on Daryl’s cheeks and he brushes them away with the pads of his thumb, a rare smile curling his lips.


	10. haircut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: can you cut my hair?

She figured he kept it as a shield. Out of habit. Because of a complete lack of vanity. It’s too long, there’s no denying it. She misses seeing his face, the blue of his eyes and the sharp line of his cheekbones and jawline. Always hidden these days.

When they kiss and her fingers find their way into his hair, she almost doesn’t mind. It’s soft as silk and when she wraps it around her fingers and tugs slightly it always draws a sound from his throat that makes her knees buckle. She holds on to it then.

When he is tired, when the weight of everything haunts him, when he stirs restlessly from a nightmare and puts his head into her lap, she doesn’t mind either. Softly, she sifts her fingers through the length of it, presses her fingertips to his scalp until he nearly purrs, melting in her arms. She soothes it then.

When they make love and he he comes apart above her, that’s when it bothers her most. When his lips part on a groan of her name as he drives himself into her as deep as he can go, when the warmth of his release fills her - she can’t ever properly see him coming undone.

Sometimes, she smooths some sweat-slicked strands out of his face, tucks them behind his ears, cups his face in her hands to hold him still.

The wonder in his eyes when he gets her there has her heart fluttering. And when he follows soon after, his strong body going rigid above her, it’s the most marvelous sight.

She never tells him to cut it off. Whatever reasons he has, they’re his.

It’s not until her own hair begins to grow out more that he seems to understand her silent struggle. When silver curls of her hair begin to fall into her face, his fingers become restless. Tugging them away, smoothing them out, nuzzling them with his nose.

 

Its a quiet afternoon when he comes to her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his chest to her back as she stirs the fragrant tomato sauce. She hums contently, leaning back against him and cherishing the warm of his breath that tickles her ear.

“Wanted ta ask ya somethin’.”

He sounds quiet and a little hesitant and it reminds her of those first few weeks together when he’d shyly inquire about what she liked, what to do, what made her feel good. He has learned her by now, and also learned to read here even better than before.

It’s part of the reason his tone surprises her.

“Can ya cut my hair?”

Turning her head, she sees the shyness in his eyes, the way he looks at the stove instead of her face. Slowly, she reaches up to smooth his messy bangs from his forehead and eyes, revealing their marvelous blue.

The kiss she gives him offers him all the comfort he needs.

 

Later, when his hair lies in a pile on the bathroom floor and the water of the shower rains down on them and he kisses her breathless, Carol almost misses the long strands.

But only a little.


	11. make up sex

Anger has long given way to disappointment, and it feels so much worse. The hours tick by slowly, agonizingly so, and not a single one of her chores can distract her from the hollow ache in her chest.

They never fight. Never argue about anything worthwhile. But this morning, they had, and the weight of it is one she still carries heavily on her shoulders.

He’s been gone all day. Outside the walls in the blistering summer sun. Away from her. She always hates it when he’s out there, exposed to the dangers of this world, but even more so now when they parted on such bad terms. When he’d stormed from their room and left her behind with damp eyes and trembling hands.

Confusion seeps into her disappointment over the course of the day. She doesn’t know what to do when he returns ( _if_ he returns, it’s always an _if_ , every time he steps a foot outside). Whether she she has to apologize or forgive.

 

In the end, he makes that choice for her.

 

It’s dark already by the time he returns, slipping quietly into their bedroom and under the thin sheets. He smells of soap and the sun, and his still damp hair tickles the back of her neck when he wraps himself around her.

“’m sorry,” he rasps into the back of her neck, lips sealing the apology with a tender kiss. Calloused hands entwine with hers, familiar and warm.

When she turns in his arms, his face looks sullen in the moonlight, and it makes her heart ache. With a smile, she leans forward, pressing her lips to his in a sweet kiss. “I’m sorry, too,” she breathes, her fingers trailing over the coarse stubble on his cheek before sifting into his hair.

“Shouldn’t have left.” He sounds defeated, burying his face in the crook of her neck and pulling her body flush against his own. Against her breasts, his heart pounds furiously. “Should’ve stayed.”

Her hands roam over his bare back, down the ridges of his spine, ghosting over old scars. He doesn’t tense anymore when her fingers kiss the numb skin. “It’s okay,” she breathes, hooking a leg over his hip to feel more of him against her. A tremor wrecks his body, fingers bruising against her waist.

“Ain’t okay.” His lips trail down her neck, tracing her collarbone, slow and languid but with determination. “Ain’t ever okay.“

A soft moan tears from her throat when he sucks at the top of a breast, the skin still warm from the sun, and she rocks her hips slowly against his. “Never gonna run again,” he promises, cupping her head in his hand and pressing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss.

She ran away before. She knows the guilt that simmer deep inside.

They smooth that guilt away after that. With calloused hands and hiccuping breaths. Trembling fingers pulling fabric out of the way, sweat pearling on tanned and milky skin. Lips moving in a delicate rhythm. Names spoken on a sigh when he moves into her, when he slides home.

They move slowly, rocking against each other with hearts beating erratically. Long legs are wrapped around his waist, arms curled around strong shoulders. Hands framing her head, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. Blue eyes meet in the moonlight, the breeze from the open window cooling their skin, pulled taut where muscles move steadily underneath.

It doesn’t fix what broke this morning, but it soothes the pain.

 

After, he rests his head against her breasts, tired and spent but she keeps him locked inside of her with a firm grip. Combs her fingers through his hair and sucks air into her lungs.

“I love ya,” he murmurs against the swell of her breast. “Love ya so damn much.”

Maybe, Carol wonders in that moment, there isn’t anything to fix. No cracks to fill or tears to stitch up. For once, everything feels whole.


	12. five more minutes

This isn’t at all how he imagined their second date would go.

Then again, he’s never been on an actual date before until last week when he took Carol out to dinner. Or rather: when Carol took _him_ out cause he’d been too much of a chicken to ask her out himself. He’d wanted to for weeks, but he never assumed she’d actually want the same. Not when she’s pretty and soft and kind while he is always covered in motor oil and grease with his hair hiding his face and too goddamn shy to really talk to her.

Then she’d asked him, completely out of the blue and with a flush on her cheeks that made his knees weak. They’d been sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard of the car shop, the radio blasting from inside the metal walls – still not loud enough to silence the rapid fire beating of his heart.

She’d looked so pretty in the sunlight, freckles dotting her pale skin as she nibbled on one of the sandwiches she always brings over from the diner across the street where she works.

Until a few weeks ago, a pimple faced kid had made the delivery (something Dale organized months ago to make sure all the guys got something proper to eat). But then one day Carol had showed up with a basket full of neatly wrapped sandwiches and with auburn curls framing her pretty face.

After a while, she started to linger and they’d started talking. It was easier with her than with most people. All too soon, spending his lunch break with Carol became his favorite part of the day.

Their dinner had been awkward. His mouth felt dry and he was too distracted by Carol’s black dress and red lips to think clearly. In the end, she’d kissed his cheek and whispered good night when he dropped her off at her house, though. Somehow, she stuck around even after that.

Only now he’s stuck at IKEA and he’s pretty sure this is not what other people do on a second date.

Carol is completely enthralled, though. A constant smile etched to her face, her hand clasped around his as she dragged him around. His skin burned where she touched him, so casual that he wondered if she even realized it.

He’s already had to sit on every couch and open pretty much ever kitchen drawer (and he did get to lay in five different beds with Carol, all much nicer than his own, and he thinks that’s pretty good for a second date).

Now, he’s standing in the middle of a warehouse sized room filled to the brim with… crap. Everything from towels to dishes to picture frames and vases. Everything you could possibly clutter your home with. The cart he’s pushing is starting to fill at rapid speed and suddenly he wonders if the trunk of his truck is big enough for it all (he’d offered to come here when she mentioned she needed a set of new chairs, sighing when she complained about the delivery costs and her own car, too small). Maybe he made a mistake in offering his help he wonders now as Carol runs her hand over a fluffy, purple rug.

“We almost done here?” he asks, trying not to sound annoyed. Because he really isn’t. Hell, he’d do pretty much anything if it means he gets to spend time with her. But by now he feels like he’s being dragged into a very plush, very colorful Hell.

Thankfully, Carol doesn’t seem to take it the wrong way, but she does look a little bashful.

“Sorry, I know I get a bit too excited here,” she says, nudging the huge pile of rugs with the tip of her sandals. “I haven’t been here in forever.”

He didn’t mean to make her feel bad about it. “’s all right,” he reassures her, and her face lights up when he offers her a weak smile. It’s the best he’s got.

“Just five more minutes, okay? We haven’t gotten to the best part yet.”

His eyes widen a little and then her hand is back on his, tugging him and the cart down the aisle, following the arrows on the ground. “An’ what’s that?”

“Candles!”

Considering the blistering heat outside Daryl has no idea what the hell she needs candles for. But he follows her anyway, squeezing past little clusters of people who fawn over knick knacks and other useless stuff like toothbrush holders and woven boxes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while,” Carol promises, slowing down a little. Suddenly she seems to realize she’s still clutching his hand and she drops it, cheeks red. “Have you ever had Köttbullar?”

“That some kind of disease?” he asks, the name completely unfamiliar and her question mighty confusing. Then again, everything in this place apparently has been given some really creepy, weird name.

Carol laughs, a light and carefree sound that sends warmth through his veins. He wants to hear it over and over like the best kind of song. “Don’t worry, I won’t give you the clap or anything.” She says it with a straight face while his own mouth drops open and his eyes widen. By the time her giggle breaks out she’s already nudged her elbow ever so softly into his ribs and he suddenly doesn’t remember how to breathe or walk, tripping over his own damn boot at her boldness.

“Wha-”

“They’re meatballs,” she explains, pearly white teeth sparkling as she grins. “You’ll love them.”

And then, completely unfazed by what she just did, Carol strolls ahead, aiming straight for the biggest array of candles he has ever seen in his life.


	13. a stormy afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: reading books together

Outside, rain is pouring down from the cloudy sky, drumming against the porch. The trees that line the gravel driveway sway in the wind, leafs swirling down to the ground.

Inside, though, everything is warm and dry. Flames lick the brick fireplace, the scent of charred wood filling the living room. The couch is soft beneath her back, a cushion pushed under her neck. Her feet, cozy inside woolen socks, rest on Daryl’s lap, his calloused hand resting on the arch.

Sophia is out of the house for a sleepover, plates with nothing left but cake crumbles sit on the coffee table next to two steaming mugs of tea and the dog is curled up on the bottom of the couch, squeezed between the armrest and Daryl’s thigh.

Carol can’t imagine a cozier way to spend this stormy afternoon.

“How many times ya read that already?” Daryl asks after a long stretch of silence. He’s still holding his own book when he nods towards hers, balanced on her stomach.

Carol finishes the sentence, peaking up at Daryl. “Four times, I think.§ She isn’t entirely sure anymore, but her copy of _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ is well worn, the back cracked and the pages wearing thin.

His thumb absent-mindedly presses circles just below her ankle and she hums contently, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. “Ain’t it gettin’ a bit boring?”

Looking down at the familiar pages, Carol ponders his question for a moment. “Not really, no,” she answers eventually, not missing the way his forehead crinkles a little in disbelief. “We’ve been married four years, I don’t think you’re boring either.”

Gently, she nudges her foot into his stomach. He just snorts, catching her foot and holding it still. “Thanks.”

Softly, she laughs, feeling lightness spreading through her. “How’s yours?” she asks then, pointing at the book he’s holding in his free hand.

He shrugs, turning it over and taking in the cover image. “Boring.”

“Oh,” she sighs, feeling a little bad that he has to plow through something he doesn’t enjoy. But he waves his hand dismissively, shutting the book and putting it down on the coffee table.

When he leans back, both of his hands rest on her feet, warmth seeping through the wool. Slowly, he begins to press his fingers into her sore skin, drawing circles down the arch and down to the soles.

It feels distracting and amazing, the relief instant, and Carol struggles to keep her eyes open. A faint smile curls her lips.

“Read me yours?” Daryl’s voice is quiet, just a murmur. “Please?”

She doesn’t hesitate for even a second. With a nod, Carol turns the book back to page one, the familiar words passing her lips easily, warm as the honey in her tea.

“ _You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’; but that ain’t no matter.”_

Daryl listens intently, all of the tension that so often wears him down forgotten. Carol feels the same, her body slack, her voice sleepy.

But she wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the same universe as my oneshot [friday night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9365648).


	14. haunted house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: first night in their new house

“It’s creaking.”

Daryl groans in frustration, turning onto his back. The mattress shifts a little, nothing holding it in place on the hardwood floor of their soon-to-be bedroom.

“No it ain’t,” he reassures her with a hoarse voice, staring up at the dark ceiling. “’s just the wind.” He’s tired and every bone in his body aches from painting walls all day and dragging furniture inside. The prospect of having to spend the next few days doing the same thing isn’t exactly tempting.

“That’s not the wind, Daryl,” Carol insists, turned on to her side to face him. Her warm breath is damp against the side of his neck, sending a shiver through him despite the exhaustion. “Maybe it’s a raccoon.”

He snorts at her hushed voice, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “So what? Think he’s gonna come down here an’ attack us?”

The door to the attic is shut and there’s no way anything from up there can get down to them. And it’s really most likely the wind creeping into the cracks of the old wood.

“Maybe,” Carol whispers, reaching out for his hand in the dark. “Can you check?”

No way in hell he’s getting out of bed now. “I ain’t going up there now,” he says, turning onto his side. There’s barely an inch of space between them, the moonlight illuminating her face. “’s the wind, trust me.” This time, he keeps his voice low, curling his fingers around hers.

She huffs, clearly unhappy with his response. “If it’s a raccoon, we’re moving out,” she pouts, and his lips curl into a smirk. He’s never known her to be this skittish about animals. And really, she should have known that creaking would come hand in hand with this ancient farmhouse she insisted on buying. Way over their budget, way to big for the three of them. Unless she’s planning on making a dozen babies, most of the rooms will never be used.

Not that the idea of that isn’t tempting.

“Just moved in,” he mutters, wrapping his arm around her until his hand rests against the small of her back. “Come on, go to sleep.” Her shirt has ridden up, exposing a sliver of silky soft skin, and his fingertips trail along the waistband of her shorts, eyes fluttering shut.

“Daryl.” Her voice is still quiet, the low timbre of it tugging at his groin. “I can’t sleep if you do that.”

“Hmm…,” he hums, dipping his fingers just barely under the soft cotton. “Too bad.”

Carol huffs, nudging her nose against his. “You’re an idiot. I’m not giving the raccoon a show.” Despite her words her hand comes to rest against his abdomen, teasing and warm.

With a low groan, Daryl buries his face in the crook of her neck, pressing a kiss to her pulse point. The way her breath catches in her throat is almost as satisfying as the pressure of her leg that she drapes over his hip.

“Maybe the place is haunted,” Daryl whispers, running the tip of his nose down the side of her neck until he can nip at the exposed skin just above her collarbone.

“Daryl!” Carol gasps in apparent horror, pulling away fast enough startle him for a second. She stares at him with narrowed eyes.

Slowly, he leans in to press his lips to hers, a brief but demanding kiss. “Wanna give the ghosts a show?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also set in the same universe as my oneshot [friday night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9365648).


	15. jenga

“This game sucks.”

The small tower built from plain wooden blocks in front of them is swaying precariously as Daryl pulls out another block, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration.

Carol allows herself to stare for a moment, the corners of her own mouth twitching into a smile. “You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to lose.” She pushes out another block, grinning as she holds it up.

“Ya wish,” Daryl huffs, sounding all too convinced. He was supposed to go on a run today, but the storm outside had canceled those plans. Stuck in here, it’s not unusual for him to get a little irritated after a while, and so she’d dragged some of the games from the upstairs cupboard to pass the time. He’d failed miserably at Monopoly and had nearly dumped the faded box of Twister into the trash before she got a chance to open it, but now she seems to finally have found something to distract him at least a little.

Only, he’s actually good at this, and she won’t let him be smug about it.

“Oh, I _know_ ,” she says quietly, edging a little closer to him on the ground until her knee presses into his thigh. “You have to keep your fingers….” Her eyes linger on his hand, hovering just over the tower. “Really.” Leaning in, she allows the warmth of her breath to dampen the side of his neck with each word. “Really still.”

He visibly shivers, throat bopping as he swallows deftly. “Ya cheatin’,” he mutters, keeping his eyes fixed on the swaying tower.

“I would never,” she whispers, not surprised when he instinctively leans towards her. Meeting him halfway, her nose nudges the throbbing artery in his neck and he makes a quiet sound deep in his throat that makes her skin tingle from head to toe.

“Ain’t gonna lose.” His voice is hoarse when he easily pushes another block out, moving to place it back on top – she doesn’t miss the way his fingers stutter a little when her lips graze his warm skin just barely.

“Oh, I think you will,” she breathes, her hand finding purchase on his thigh. “The way you’re trembling.” Almost accidentally, her fingertips edge towards the inside of his thigh, feeling the muscles there jump under the thick denim of his jeans.

Inhaling sharply, Daryl’s grasp around the block tightens. “Stop,” he rasps, and she can see the white of his knuckles pushing through.

Her lips curl into a smirk, and she knows he’s done for. “No. I want to win.” It’s just a whisper, but he must hear every word with her lips teasing the lobe of his ear, and whatever composure he managed to maintain crumbles the moment she draws the soft skin between her teeth.

“Fuck!”

The sound of wooden blocks tumbling to the ground is the last things she hears before she’s wrapped up in two strong arms and warm, chapped lips press eagerly against her own.


	16. tell me what happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Daryl telling Carol everything that happened after she left (Line up, Captive at Sanctuary, finding out she left ASZ, was shot by the Saviors), Carol telling him she understood why he lied.
> 
> _set after the season seven finale_

The bed is soft beneath him, invitingly so. _His own bed_. A bed he hasn’t slept in in so long – not since before _that_ day, since before everything changed. But now, the dust is settling all around them, and the high of today’s victory is slowly fading along with the sunlight.

There’s a soft knock on his door, and he grunts in response, wiping his blood-caked fingers with a towel. Even after all this time apart, he still recognizes her footsteps when she enters the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

She’s still wearing the armor, mud and blood crusting on her boots. Her cheeks are flushed, her fingers trembling. When he’d seen her before, when she saved his damn life, he thought it was a dream. A cruel fantasy his brain cooked up while he still had breath in him. But it was all real, and now she’s here.

Which means she _knows_.

“Did Morgan tell ya?”

She’s still lingering by the door, the pale of her skin glowing in the rosy light of the sunset. Any other time, he’d have allowed himself to drink in the sight of her for a moment. Now, he quickly looks away in shame when she nods. “Yes.”

He’s too exhausted to feel angry, but not enough to not feel the guilt that eats away at him. “’m sorry I lied. I didn’t wan-”

“I know,” Carol interrupts him. In his periphery, he can see her walking over, and the mattress dips just slightly under her weight when she sits down by his side. Not close enough to touch but enough for him to feel the warmth of her. “I know why you did that. It’s okay.” Her hand reaches out then, slowly, giving him time to pull away. But he can’t. He won’t. Not anymore, and so he lets her take his hand in hers, curls his fingers around hers – soft and delicate. “I’m sorry, too,” she breathes, and when he looks at her there are tears brimming in her eyes. He doesn’t have a clue what reasons she has to apologize. “Tell me what happened?”

He does. Tells her everything. What happened that day in the woods, the clearing, the blood. Tells her what he saw in the darkness of his cell. What he felt when they told him she was gone. The words spill from his mouth like a lifetime’s worth of regret, and his tongue feels dry by the time he’s done.

“Didn’t want ya to fight,” he breathes then, looking at her for the first time since he started. A sad smile curls her lips, and he can’t keep himself from reaching out, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Ya gonna be all right?” He remembers too well what she told him. That this would break her. Erase her.

His touch doesn’t startle her, and when she leans into it instead, her eyes fluttering shut, his heart skips a beat. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” She sighs, looking at him with all the weight of the world in her eyes. “Will _you_?”

He wants to lie again, tell her that he will be. No matter what, she ain’t gotta worry about him. But he can’t, not again. “You gonna leave again?” he asks with a trembling voice, afraid of her answer. He won’t make her stay, won’t even ask her to. If somewhere else is where she needs to be, then that’s the way it is. Carol is silent for a long moment, long enough to tell him she’s not sure. Then, softly, she shakes her head.

“Then maybe I will,” he mutters, cheeks burning. Her own feels warm under his palm, and he thinks that for just a brief second, the corners of her lips twitch into the hint of a smile. “Or maybe I could- we could… together, ya know?”

He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’ll come with her if she asks. Anywhere. That all he really needs is her. This is home now, and he doesn’t want to leave the others behind. But she’s what matters most, and without her, it doesn’t feel like home the way it used to.

Her own hand reaches up, and for a second he thinks she’s going to mirror his own. But she doesn’t. Instead, she gently smooths a few strands of hair from his forehead, tucks them behind his ear. “We’re here now,” she whispers, suddenly so close, so warm. “Together.”

Something breaks apart inside of him then, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel or act on back in her house. He’d meant to protect her then, but now he can’t anymore. With a choked breath his head falls forward, his forehead pressing against her collarbone as his arms wrap around her tightly. “Missed ya,” he murmurs through tears he can no longer hold back.

Her hands cling to the back of his shirt, and he can feel the sobs wrecking her own body as they hold each other close. And for just this moment, bathed in darkness, they allow themselves to fall apart. _Together_.


	17. dragon slayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: adventurous

“Beware, evil dragon. Let him go!” Her daughter’s voice carries over from the living room when Carol slips through the front door, tossing her keys onto the small table by the door. Toeing off her shoes, she listens to a lot of fake roaring and the sound of something repeatedly hitting the couch.

“What’s going on here?” The moment she steps into the room, Carol can’t help but smile brightly at the sight in front of her. The dining table has been turned into a blanket fort, Christmas lights draped over it and illuminating the room. Daryl is laying on the rug on his back, hands folded on his stomach, peaking up at her with a pitiful expression. He’s wearing a tiara that’s nearly lost in the mess of his hair, and a red blanket is draped around his shoulders.

Sophia is standing next to him, a tiara in her own, braided hair, jeans and bare feet peaking out from underneath her pink princess dress – it’s much too small, the back no longer zipping up and the hemline an inch or two too far away from the ground. She has a plastic sword in her hand and is hitting the arm of the couch with it, releasing two year’s worth of dust in the process.

“We’re on an adventure, Mommy,” she proclaims, her freckled cheeks flushed a deep pink and her words a little breathless.

“Obviously,” Carol smirks. “Are you the knight?”

Her little girl turns away from the couch, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I’m the _princess_ , Mommy,” she explains, pointing at her dress. “Carl was the prince but his mom picked him up. He has to go to the dentist.” She sounds more than a little annoyed and then points her sword at the poor man on the ground. “Daryl is the king. We were on a trip to the Waffle Kingdom, but then the dragon got him. I have to save him.”

Carol can feel her face turning into a grimace as she suppresses her laugh. “Of course.” Daryl lifts his head just barely, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “Can I help?”

Sophia props her free hand into her hip, tilts her head to the side and looks lost in thought for a moment. “Well, if Daryl’s the king then you’re the queen. So when I scare away the dragon you have to kiss Daryl awake from the curse.” Daryl makes a huffing sound as if this curse was a new addition to the elaborate story, but he lays back down at Sophia’s insistence and Carol watches as Sophia continues to scare off the dragon, sighing every time a new wave of dust erupts from the couch.

Eventually, though, the dragon is defeated, and another tiara is produced from Sophia’s costume box and shoved a little roughly onto Carol’s head. Lips quirking into a smile, she kneels down next to Daryl, cupping his face in her hands.

“My poor damsel in distress,” she whispers quietly enough for Sophia not to hear it, but before he can react, she presses her lips to his in a brief kiss.

“Not _on the mouth_ , Mommy. Yuck!”

Carol can’t help but laugh then, and Daryl joins in as he sits up and adjusts his tiara. Sophia clearly doesn’t approve, sighing and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “So, where is this Waffle Kingdom?” Carol asks, her stomach growling just on cue.

That conjures the excitement back onto her daughter’s face, and she bounces on her bare heels with a grin lightening up her face. “Are you coming on the adventure with us?”

“Of course.” Behind their backs, her hand finds Daryl’s, entwining their fingers and squeezing once in silent gratitude.


	18. good kisser

Their first kiss is over too quickly to be particularly good or bad. The thrill of a _first_ is what makes it special. The smile that it conjures onto their lips where each others touch still tingles is what spreads warmth through their veins. The blush that taints their cheeks pink is what makes it feel innocent. Special.

The next few kisses last longer. And they confirm Carol’s suspicion that Daryl probably hasn’t kissed very many people in his life before the world came to an end. He isn’t necessarily a bad kisser (and even if he was she wouldn’t mind, would keep kissing him over and over because they’re here and alive and his skin feels warm to the touch and his eyes are blue and full of life). But his inexperience guides him, his low self-esteem holds him back, and years of waiting make him clumsy.

It’s messy, too quick or too slow, overeager or painfully shy. It’s either too much or not enough, and it’s a sweet ache.

Carol tries to guide him through it, but it’s been a long time since she kissed anyone because she truly wanted to. Since she felt the thrill of excitement buzzing inside of her. It makes her feel younger, makes her forget the hardships of their lives for a brief moment.

His lips are chapped, dry, soft and warm. They coax her own apart, whisper against the tender skin behind her ear, suck at her pale skin until it turns pink, feather over the plane of her quivering stomach, maps out all the most secret of places.

She doesn’t know when he becomes a _good_ kisser. It happens slowly, over time. All his enthusiasm paves the way for it. For the tender kisses in the morning that stir her from her sleep. For the playful ones she never expected when she makes them breakfast. For the chaste ones when someone else might be looking. For the harsh and bruising ones after yet another close call. The deep kisses when he leaves for a run, the breathtaking ones when he returns. The kisses he gives her when it’s just the two of them, naked and tangled in the sheets. The kisses that swallow cries and moans. The sweet kisses after, when the sweat dries on their flushed skin. The lingering kiss to tell her goodnight.

They find their rhythm over time, figure each other out in all the ways they never allowed themselves before.

He tells her once, in the dead of night with his face between her breasts and her fingers tangled in his damp hair, that he never liked to be kissed before. That it felt too real. Too close. Made him want to run.

She knows that in that moment running is the last thing on his mind, and a smile curls her lips. The kiss he presses to her warm skin tingles, and even though it’s not the first, it’s just as special.


	19. bad dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: waking up from a bad dream

“Daryl?” Small hands on his arm startle Daryl from his sleep, and he hears himself making a grumbling sound before his eyes shoot open. It takes him a second to adjust to the near darkness, nothing but moonlight illuminating the room.

Sophia is standing next to the bed, tear trails shimmering in the silver light, her hair a mess on top of her head and her favorite doll clutched to her chest. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice laced with concern as he sits up in the otherwise empty bed.

“I had a bad dream,” she sobs, trying to blink away her tears. His chest tightens at the side and he lifts his blanket, offering her a smile.

“Come ‘ere,” he says with a sleep-riddled voice, and Sophia instantly climbs into bed and throws her arms around his neck. “Ya wanna tell me ‘bout it?” he asks quietly, feeling her tears soaking into his shirt and her doll pressing into his stomach.

“Mommy didn’t come back to us,” she whispers, small hands clutching his shirt between his shoulder blades. “She went to Heaven.” He sighs, pressing his hand to her back and rubbing it soothingly up and down. “Is she going to go to Heaven?”

“No, sweetheart,” he reassures her, feeling her little body trembling. “’s all right. Ya momma just had a little tummy ache that needed fixin’.” Carol has been in the hospital for two days to have her appendix removed. Sophia struggled to understand, no matter how many times they explained it to her. He misses Carol just as much, and it’s the first time since they moved in together three years ago that he has to sleep in their bed alone. “She ain’t gonna go to Heaven for a long time.”

Sophia pulls back, wiping some snot from her upper lip. “You promise?”

He offers her a sad smile. She’s too little to worry so much. “Can’t really promise that.” He doesn’t want to burden her with the heaviness and inevitability of death, but he doesn’t want to tell her fairy tales either.

Sophia swallows, eyeing him for a moment and clearly contemplating something. “Your mommy’s in Heaven, right?”

The question feels heavy even after all these years. “Yeah. Has been for a long time.” It’s a pain he never knew how to deal with. And one he doesn’t want Sophia to have to endure.

“Were you said?” she asks with innocence radiating from her.

Whatever sadness he might have felt, he was never allowed. Whenever it began to shine through, it was beaten out of him. But that is a part of himself he’s not ready to share with this little girl who so narrowly escaped the same fate when her mother took her away from her father in the middle of the night. He still can’t believe how brave Carol had been. “Yeah,” he tells her, the easiest answer - and not a lie.

Sophia pats his arm, offering him some of the comfort nobody ever gave him when he truly needed it. “Can we go see mommy now?” she asks quietly, the last word ending on a wide yawn.

He chuckles at the sight, ruffles his hand through her hair. “Tomorrow morning, kid. I promise.”

She sighs a little, a habit she’s only picked up recently. But she doesn’t argue, probably realizing herself that late night hospital trips aren’t allowed. “How 'bout I make us some hot chocolate?” he suggests, knowing she won’t go to sleep anytime soon no matter how tired she is. Last year, she’d struggled with nightmares, waking up in tears almost every night. They’d have to take her mind off what she saw for a while before tucking her back in, but he looks back on those midnight picnics and early morning movie sessions with a smile now. Carol half asleep against his side and Sophia nestled against them, humming along to yet another pretentious song sung by a girl in a flowing dress.

Her eyes light up at his suggestions and she clasps her hands together, dropping the doll for a second before quickly clutching it to her chest again. “With the little sugar clouds?” She’d always struggled with the word _marshmallow_ , avoiding it at all costs until _sugar clouds_ just became the norm in their house.

He nods. “Yeah, kid. As many as ya want.” Two skinny arms wrap around him again with an excited yelp, nearly knocking him backward.

“Don’t tell mommy, she says it’s bad for my teeth,” Sophia whispers then, almost as if Carol could hear it now. Daryl looks down at her, her eyes beaming.

“Not a word,” he promises. This time, Carol probably wouldn’t mind. Any other time, he’d only get himself in trouble for being soft again. But he has stopped making excuses for maybe letting Sophia get away with a little too much a long time ago.

She grins cheekily, holding up her right hand. “Pinky promise?”

Smiling, he hooks his finger around hers. “Yeah.”


	20. hot summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a very hot summer day

“Can I have another popsicle?“

“Yes.”

“Can we put more water in the pool?”

“Yes.”

“Can Carl stay here overnight?”

“Sure.”

“Can we order pizza for dinner?”

“Hmm.”

“Can we stay up late and watch a movie?”

“Course.”

“You’re the best,” Sophia declares, clapping her hands together and bouncing back towards the little wading pool he put up earlier. Daryl only peeks at her for a second – soaked strands of blonde hair peeking out beneath her sun hat, the pink frill on her unicorn bathing suit looking just as ridiculous as it always does. He closes his eyes again, the sun too bright, painting the usual blackness behind his lids a deep red.

He’s melting into this damn chair and all the ice in his glass has melted forever ago.

“Daryl?”

The soft sound of Carol’s voice behind him startles Daryl a little. He hadn’t heard her stepping outside, the wooden planks of their deck usually giving away every damn squirrel that races across it. “Hmm?” he hums, not bothering to turn around. That’s too exhausting to do in this scorching heat, anyway.

It’s the hottest summer they’ve had in years, and he bloody well can’t even sleep anymore. It doesn’t matter that they yank the windows open all night, the breeze that floats inside their bedroom is just as warm.

“Are you even listening to what she’s asking you?”

“What?” It takes him a moment to process her question – a smile evident in the tone of her voice. But when his brain does catch up with his ears, he can feel his cheeks flushing an even deeper red than they already are. “Oh. Yeah,” he stutters, clearing his throat. “No. ’s too hot.” His complaint isn’t really a valid excuse and he turns his head to face Carol and the shame he feels. This isn’t the first time he let her little girl get away with too much – he’d never thought he’d suck so much at saying no. “No idea how ya get anythi-” His awe of Carol’s unfazed productivity in the face of this heat wave turns to ash on his dry tongue when he takes in the sight of her. “The hell’s _that_?”

The kids’ laughter and the splash of water mingles with the sudden rush of his blood in his ears and Daryl swallows. Carol only smirks at him, devious and knowing exactly what she’s doing when she trails her hand down over her shirt and to the jeans shorts she’s wearing – ending just under the swell of her ass and granting him a world class view of her thighs. They’re still creamy and pale, even though she’s tried to get some color.

“Do you like it?” she asks, tilting her hips to the side. All he does is stare, his eyes roaming from her bare feet up to the swell of her hips, and he can’t stop his tongue from tracing his chapped, dry bottom lip. Carol chuckles at that, taking a few steps closer and leaning down enough to grant him a not-so-unintentional peak at the swell of her breast. They nearly spill out of her bikini top when she leans down, her face just a few inches away from his own. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she whispers, the hoarse sound of her voice sending a shiver down Daryl’s spine. “Now, I’m going to fix the mess you made.” She nods towards the children, noisy and wild and oblivious. “Or do you really want two kids keeping us up all night?”

Carol lingers for a moment, making the intention behind her question very, _very_ clear. Daryl swallows, eyes flickering down into the dip of her shirt one more time before looking into her eyes. “Hell, no.”

The corner of her mouth twitches into a half-smile – perfect and pink and _fuck_ does he want to kiss her right now. “Didn’t think so.” She winks at him with no shame, turning around and making her way across the lawn.

His eyes don’t stray from the round of her ass, the denim clinging to her, and suddenly he doesn’t mind the heat all that much anymore.


	21. the dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "we're not buying a dog!"

“But I’d take care of it,” Sophia promises eagerly, swinging her legs back and forth where she’s perched on the edge of the island in their kitchen.

Carol sighs, looking down at the bubbling red pasta sauce. “No.”

“I _would_.” Her little girl sounds convinced that she’ll actually keep this promise. Deep down, Carol knows she probably would – at least in some shape or form. But it’s not enough to change her mind on this.

“No.”

Even though she can’t see her daughter’s face, Carol can see the disappointment – can practically smell it over the garlic and the herbs. “There’s that dog park down the road,” Daryl says then, taking over for their daughter in this ridiculous discussion. “I could take the dog there after work.”

Two small, bare feet hit the tiles and then Sophia is standing right next to her, looking up at Carol with big, round eyes. “I can walk it when I’m done with my homework.”

“Would be good for her. Responsibility an’ all.” Carol rolls her eyes, her grasp on the spoon tightening a little in frustration. This isn’t the first time this topic has come up, but they’d usually dropped it pretty quickly when it became clear she wasn’t on board. And usually, Daryl took her side after a few reasonable arguments.

“Yes,” Sophia gasps, apparently believing this is how they can sell her this idea. “Mrs Meyers always says we need to learn _all_ about responsibility.”

Carol turns to glare at Daryl, but he just shrugs. “Ain’t no better way to learn it.”

She sighs again, dropping the spoon onto one of the plates she has stacked up on the counter. “Will you two stop already?” Her voice sounds a little more exasperated than she actually feels, but it’s been a long day and this is _not_ something she’s going to change her mind about. Not now, anyway. “We’re not buying a dog.” It’s not that she doesn’t like dogs. She wouldn’t mind having one of their own. But the garden is small and their jobs don’t allow for much time and while they’re comfortable, she’s not quite willing to risk vet bills that will dig deep into their pockets.

Disappointment washes over Sophia and Daryl’s faces, and she almost feels a little guilty about crushing their dream. She wishes she’d at least have told Daryl about…. about why _now_ is a bad time to discuss this. But she doesn’t know for sure yet, and she doesn’t want to get his hopes up when they’d tried and tried without any luck for almost a year now. If he knew, though, he’d probably back her up.

Sophia has her arms crossed defiantly across her chest, pouting. “We don’t want to _buy_ one,” she mutters, looking sour. “Daddy said we’d rescue the gray one from the shelter. The one with the white ears.”

Carol’s eyes immediately find her husband, and he shrinks where he’s leaning against the fridge, hands buried in his pockets and cheeks flushing a deep red. “Is that what he said?” Carol asks calmly, wondering when these two idiots drove to the shelter without telling her. Guessing she’s lucky they didn’t just bring the dog home without asking, she wills herself not to be mad.

He clears his throat. “Just said we’d- ya know?” he stutters, and Carol shakes her head at him. They’ll need to talk about this later.

A small but insistent hand tugs on her sleeve and Carol looks down at her daughter, eyes welling with tears and fury alike. “Mommy, if we don’t rescue him, they’re going to kill him!”

Carol can’t quite believe her ears, and with pursed lips, she stares at Daryl. “I hate you,” she mouths. She knows he didn’t actually mean for Sophia to play this card, but she’s curious to a fault and probably asked him more questions about the shelter than she should have. And he can’t lie to her any more than he can say _no_.

“I know,” Daryl mouths back eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching into a shy, nervous smile.

 

Eight months later, Carol sits crossed-legged in the middle of their bed, a mass of gray fur curled up in her lap. The soft wheezing sounds he makes are familiar by now, just like the soft texture of his fur when she sifts her fingers through it.

With a content sigh, Carol looks at Daryl, sitting in the rocking chair in the corner with their sleeping baby girl cradled against his chest. Sophia is perched on his thigh, humming a soft tune to her little sister.

Daryl looks up then, almost as if he _knew_ she was looking and mirrors her bright smile with one of his own.

“I love you,” she mouths, feeling her heart swell in her chest.

“I know,” he mouths back, sealing the words with a kiss he presses to the baby’s head, covered in wispy, blonde curls.


	22. hello gorgeous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Hello, gorgeous. Do I know you?"

His heart is pounding relentlessly in his chest as he pushes past Denise through the front door. “She all right?” he asks, a gasp more than anything, sweat pearling on his forehead. “Where’s she?” His hands are still covered in dirt and walker blood, the crossbow abandoned on the front porch. “She gonna be fine?”

Denise catches up with him then, resting a hand against his arm that he shakes off at first. “Daryl, calm down. It’s okay,” she reassures him, lifting her hand again and this time he doesn’t push her away. Stops his strides through the room and takes a deep breath. “She’s fine. It looks worse than it is.“

“How’d that even happen?” Rosita had told him what happened the second he walked through the gates with Aaron by his side, their supply run having taken them much longer than anticipated. Had told him that Carol had an accident, fell, somehow cut herself up pretty bad. But he hadn’t stayed long enough for a proper explanation. By the time he made it to the infirmary, he’d been out of breath. “Someone did that to her?” he asks, grinding his teeth and remembering the bruises on her back that Morgan put there all those months ago. The ones he only saw by accident – otherwise she’d have kept them a secret.

Denise shakes her head softly, tightening her grip on his arm when he makes a move towards the room off to the side. “Hey, slow down. She’s okay,” she repeats as if those words alone could ever be enough. “I don’t know what happened, gave her pretty strong pain killers and she’s been out all day.”

He takes a shuddering breath, cringing at the thought of her in pain. “Should’ve been there,” he mutters. He hadn’t wanted to go on this run in the first place. There was no point to it, they’d all known deep down that the small clinic was raided already. “Should’ve-”

“Don’t,” Denise stops him. “Just… be with her now,” she says with a much softer voice, nodding towards the door. It’s cracked open, but not enough for him to catch a glimpse of Carol.

Suddenly terrified all over again, Daryl swallows the lump in his throat. “She really gonna be fine? “

“Yes,” Denise says with a smile, letting go of his arm.

The room is dimly lit by the small lamp on the bedside table and the low afternoon sun shining in through the window. His heart feels heavy when he sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Carol stirs slightly, her eyes still closed.

Delicate fingers fidget against the sheets and he reaches out for them, curls both his hands around one of hers. “Carol?” he whispers, and her eyes flutter open at the hoarse sound of her name. “Shit, what happened?” She groans a little in response, trying to sit up but wincing instead. “Easy,” he breathes, resting one hand on her cheek to still her. “Easy, sweetheart.” The endearment slips from his lips and he wants to take it back the second he says it. But it’s too late.

Her forehead creases and she looks at him curiously. “What- Oh.” Something shifts then, confusion giving way for an all too different expression. Her lips curl into a smirk that sends a shiver down his spine. “Hello, gorgeous. Do I know you?”

The sultry tone of her voice catches him completely off guard, Daryl’s eyes damn near popping out of his head. “Wha- Carol?” he asks, suddenly seriously worried that she doesn’t recognize him. That she hit her head and forgot _everything_ – his hand skims along the side of her head, sifts nervously through silver curls, but he finds nothing.

“That’s me,” she confirms with a grin, winking at him. “And I know _you_.” Her voice has gone lower than he knew it could, and suddenly her free hand comes up to rest against his arm.

“What'ya doin’?” he asks, his voice too high-pitched, breaking when her hand moves up his forearm, over the crease of his elbow and all the way up to his shoulder, a cool, soft hand against his own scorching, blood-crusted skin.

“Having a look,” she teases, her hand resting against the side of his neck where his pulse hammers relentlessly.

“Denise!” he hollers, completely at loss here, but Carol presses her fingers to his lips before he has really finished the name, silencing him. Tantalizing him.

“Come on, Daryl,” she breathes, the sound of his name a relief for just a moment before his mouth goes dry again. “Don’t be such a chicken.” If she was in pain before, there seems to be no trace of that now when she tugs him down towards her a little, his back protesting at the awkward angle. “I know you want to,” she whispers, her warm breath damp against his cheek.

He struggles to sit up again and escape her grasp. “The hell did she give ya?” he mutters, looking around in search of a pill bottle or something alike. But except for a glass of water, he finds nothing.

“Well,” Carol replies, her fingertips ghosting over his pulse point and to the hollow of his throat. The slight touch sends heat down his spine and he tries to ignore the tug deep in his guts. “Not what I want _you_ to give me.”

“Jesus,” he grunts, wondering what the hell is taking Denise so damn long.

“Not interested in him, either,” Carol teases, her fingers popping open a button on his shirt.

He quickly grasps her hand, fingers curling around her wrist tightly enough to stop her but not tight enough to hurt her. “Carol, stop,” he breathes, and she leans back onto the pillow with a pout. “Y'all right?” he asks, desperate to know how this happened – but he doubts he’ll get an answer out of her now. “Ya hurtin’?”

She seems to ponder his question for a moment, making use of his lack of vigilance and turning the tables – her fingers curl around his wrist instead, tugging it down, down, down. “Are you going to make me feel better?” He gulps, frozen for a moment when she leads his hand down under the thin blanket and to the hem of the gown Denise put on her. “Or do you want me to show you _exactly_ where it hurts.”

The second he feels bare, milky skin he pulls away, all but jumps off the bed and stands all the way by the window. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, willing his heart to calm down.

Carol chuckles, a devious smile curling her lips.

“Denise!”


	23. small

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "You're so small."

She’s the most delicate thing he’s ever seen in his life. All petal-soft skin and wispy, strawberry-blonde hair, big, round eyes and minuscule fingers curled into tiny fists. Light as a feather, he cradles her against his chest, the blanket she’s wrapped in fluffy and soft. A small foot peeks out, red and still a little wrinkled, and he quickly tucks it back into the warm cocoon.

A barely audible whimpering sound bubbles up from her throat, slips past rosy lips. Carefully, afraid of breaking her because she’s so fragile – Daryl lifts her a little higher, presses her against his heart.

“’s all right, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing his nose to the crown of her head and inhaling the scent of her. Clean and warm and unique. “Gonna keep ya safe.” It’s a quiet promise that he breathes, his heart stuttering – so full of love and a happiness he’s never known. “You’re so small.”

She’d been born a few weeks early, catching them all completely off guard. He hadn’t even been here when Carol went into labor yesterday, out on a trip to Alexandria to deliver some food and supplies. When he returned at dusk, he’d barely been close enough for the gates of Hilltop to come into view when Maggie came running towards him, her own son cradled in her arms, fussing and squirming.

He’d never run as fast as he did then, thundering to the gate and the house and up the stairs to Carol’s side. Just in time.

“Sophia was smaller.” Carol’s voice pulls him from his trance and he looks up. Her eyes are fluttering open, fighting against the early morning light – rosy and pale. Exhaustion has left shadows and creases on her face and an old ghost haunts her glassy eyes. “She was so small.”

Daryl sighs, sadness dripping from her words at the memory of the daughter this world took from her. But then, slowly, her lips curl into a tender smile. There’s still grief hidden in it, but when she reaches for their little girl there’s nothing but love and adoration guiding her exhausted limbs.

He hands the baby to her carefully, slips into bed beside her and lets her curl into his side.

“Carson said she’s healthy,” Daryl tells Carol, grateful she’s awake now. He knows she needs the rest, but he also knows she needs _this_ – these precious moments, all these firsts that she gets to experience again. A second chance. “Says she’s a strong kid.”

He’d been so angry when they’d found out she was pregnant. Not at her. Mostly at himself, at them, for not being more careful. But Carol had been so sure that it wasn’t in the cards for them, even if either of them had any desire for it. When it did happen, he hadn’t known how to feel.

Over time, it all fell into place, though.

There are cracks in both their hearts and souls that not even this happiness can fix, and he knows that. Allowing themselves this miracle is a weakness. Just another perfect, innocent thing to be torn away from them. But they’ve learned now to cherish what they have for as long as they have it. To preserve it. To keep going.

To live.

No matter what comes tomorrow.


	24. fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "You’re not getting rid of me that easy."

She knows he hates the fuss. The attention – even coming from her. But the only alternative he has is to suffer in silence and she won’t let him do that to himself. No matter how stubborn he is.

And _God_ , is he stubborn.

He’d been healthy as a horse from the day she first met him at the Quarry. All this time, he’d never so much as shown signs of a cough. Even during that first winter on the road when a cold wrecked all of them one by one – everyone except Daryl. He’d driven his bike with a thin leather jacket and a self-made poncho, seemingly never bothered by the cold, a walking furnace whenever she shyly sought his warmth.

He’s a furnace now. But not in that familiar, comforting way she’d almost forgotten over time. His fever has gotten worse over night instead of better, and she’s never seen a less cooperative patient.

“Y'ain’t puttin’ that ‘round my legs,” he spits as she sets down the basin of water and a stack of towels on the bedside table. Carol bites back a sigh, rolling her eyes before turning to face him.

“It’ll help,” she promises, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He shifts away a little, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut at the small movement. “Want me to close the curtains?” she asks, slowly reaching a hand out to rest against his scorching forehead.

“’m fine,” he says, rather unconvincingly when he ends it on a nasty cough, his chest heaving with the effort of it. Carol waits it out, her hand resting on his shoulder, easing him through it.

“You’re _not_ fine.” She keeps her voice quiet, offering him a small smile. He interprets it as pity, of course, huffing out a frustrated breath and leaning back against his pillow.

“Had worse.”

Her eyebrows lift in disbelief but she doesn’t press the matter further.

“I can get you some soup. Or more tea?” She allows the hand that’s still pressed against his shoulder to linger there a little longer.

Up until a few days ago, Daryl had completely ignored all the signs pointing to the massive cold that was about to wreck him. A little cough had been explained away by the stack of cigarettes he found on a run the other week. His stuffed nose apparently due to some allergy she never knew he had – and that had never shown itself before. Headaches he wouldn’t admit to even when she caught him massaging his temples with a pained frown on his face.

He didn’t want to listen to her when she told him to rest.

And now he’s chained to the bed, burning up and barely able to catch any sleep. Voice no more than a hoarse whisper and his chest congested beyond belief. She can hear the gurgling with each of his breaths, and so far, none of the pills she sweet-talked him into taking have helped. He’d refused those, too, at first. Telling her to save them for someone else. Only when she’d threatened to hide them in his food like a dog he’d finally surrendered and swallowed them.

“Y'ain’t gotta bring me nothin’,” he replies. He sounds a little grumpy but she’ll forgive him that. After all, this isn’t just a case of a man flu he’s suffering through. But a little cooperation probably wouldn’t hurt him. “Don’t want ya gettin’ sick, too.”

He’s preaching the same old song and Carol can’t contain her sigh this time.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” An easy smile curves her lips when he blushes a little, avoiding her gaze. “Don’t worry about me,” she says then, softer. He needs to rest, and he can’t do that when he keeps worrying about everyone else but himself. “Now, will you let me do this?” She points towards the water and he nods in defeat.

Relieved, Carol stands, reaching for the first towel when his hand finds her wrist, warm, calloused fingers tickling her skin in a shy touch. “Thank you,” he mutters, eyes flickering between her face, their hands and the mattress.

She wants to tell him that there’s no reason for that. Wants to press a kiss to his temple. Curl up by his side and soothe the headache away, maybe run her fingers through his hair and across his scalp. He’d shy away at first, she knows it. But deep down, she’s confident he’d like it. Now isn’t the time for that, though, and she doesn’t want to embarrass him any further. So, she just smiles, dunks the towel into the water.

“Take off your pants,” she orders, realizing too late that she just did exactly what she wanted to avoid. His face turns into the shade of a tomato and she bursts out laughing before she can stop herself. When he joins in after an awkward second, it’s no more than a hilarious wheezing sound.

They’re both out of breath by the time she tugs the blanket from him and goes to work.


	25. fight me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "fight me!"

“Gimme that chocolate,” Daryl growls, eyes narrowed into slits as he stares at her. Carol tries to hold back her giggle, pursing her lips instead and clutching half of a chocolate bar to her chest like a treasure.

“No,” she quips, shaking her head.

“I won it.”

“You cheated.”

He snorts, eyebrows disappearing under his messy hair. “I don’t cheat.” The scattered game of Monopoly between them doesn’t prove much anymore. “Won it, so hand it over.”

“No, it’s mine.” She’d gotten it from Olivia as a gift for helping out with the inventory, and she’d treasured it since then. Only eating a little bit here and there, never too much. Every bar of chocolate could be the last they’ll ever find, after all. And Daryl, well. He doesn’t even _like_ chocolate all that much, she knows it. He’s just being stubborn.

He edges a little closer to her, his knees dragging along the thick rug on the living room floor. “Gimme the chocolate.” The hoarse quality of his voice sends a shiver down her spine and she quickly tucks the object of his desire behind her back.

“Fight me,” she teases, narrowing her own eyes.

She almost misses it, but the corner of his mouth undeniably twitches into a smirk. “Careful what'ya wish for,” he says quietly, and almost instantly, Carol realizes the mistake she made.

“Don’t yo-” she begins to warn him, but then he’s lunging at her from across the Monopoly board, tackling her to the ground. Strong arms pin her wrists down, his knees pressing into either side of her thighs. “Daryl!” she squeals, caught between a gasp and a laugh. She wiggles under him, can feel the lightness of his hold – she could easily slip free if she wanted to. But she doesn’t.

His face is only a few inches away from her own, the scent of him overwhelming – pine and smoke and _him_. “’s mine,” he growls again, sending a flush from her cheekbones down to her heaving chest. She knows he can see it, doesn’t miss the way his throat bops or his eye flicker down for a heartbeat.

“You can’t have it,” she says determinedly, still clutching the chocolate bar in her fist. His hips are pressing her into the ground and she wiggles a little under him, earning herself a gratifying groan.

“Y'ain’t playin’ fair,” he rasps, one hand freeing hers and pressing into the ground next to her face.

He’s close enough to cloud her judgment, the familiar warmth of his body like a cocoon around her own. “Neither are you.” Making use of her free hand, Carol peels back the silver foil around the chocolate and lifts it slowly to her lips, her eyes locked with Daryl’s the entire time.

“What'ya doin’?” His voice breaks in the most distracting way, sending heat through her veins.

“Come on,” she teases. “Get your prize.” With one last smirk, she takes a bite of the chocolate, tossing the remaining bar behind her. The sweetness coats her tongue and lips, and she keeps them parted as an invitation.

Daryl groans, not wasting a second to claim what he won, and Carol hums when his lips crash into her own. Eager and excited and messy. Perfect.


	26. still sorry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: in the moment kiss

She’s so damn pretty.  
  
Ain’t like he never noticed that before. But she’s looking even prettier tonight. With the stars reflecting in her blue eyes and her skin nearly translucent in the moonlight except for all them freckles that he can’t help but follow from the bridge of her nose all the way down to the where they disappear into the dip of her shirt.  
  
Curls of her hair - auburn and shiny and making his fingers itch with the need to touch them - flutter in the balmy breeze. She keeps tucking them behind her ears every now and then with delicate fingers, the nails painted red.  
  
She’s going on and on about something but he’s barely listening. Only catching bits and pieces and he thinks she might be complaining about her parents. He can’t be sure, though. Is too distracted.   
  
The sounds of the carnival fill the night air, even now that they’ve driven his truck down the dirt road and parked it by the cliff overlooking the quarry.   
  
He hadn’t wanted to go at first. Would have been content to work on their damn chemistry assignment like they planned. But Carol had been so excited about the stupid carnival that she’d been bouncing up and down and smiling so brightly he could feel his cheeks heating up. In the end, he couldn’t deny her a thing and so he found himself being dragged through the thick crowd, eating cotton candy on a Ferris Wheel with Carol clutching his arm, riding a poor excuse of a roller coaster until he felt like throwing up. Carol even sweet-talked him into going to the shooting stands.  
  
The over sized plushy unicorn he won is sitting on her lap now, pink feet sticking into the air.  
  
He hadn’t asked her why she didn’t go with some of her friends.   
  
Being friends with him meant she had to endure a lot of nasty comments over the last two years. Eventually, the dust settled and people got bored, mostly leaving them alone. Her small group of friends had been decent enough from the start, but even now he won’t go as far as to call them _his_ friends.  
  
It don’t matter now, he thinks to himself, unable to tear his eyes away from her lips. Tainted red from the cherry slushie she drank earlier, soft and damp looking. It’s like they’re drawing him in, his body leaning into her space where they both sit cross-legged in the bed of his truck.  
  
Either Carol doesn’t notice or she doesn’t care, just keeps on talking and waving her hands through the air, her cheeks all flushed.  
  
Fuck, he wants to kiss her. Has wanted to for so long. Ain’t like she would want to kiss him back, though. Not when she’s friends with guys like Rick and Shane, not when she could go on a date with Ed Peletier. It’s a miracle she’s hanging out with him at all and he never wanted to push his luck.  
  
Don’t got the balls for it, anyway. Only _now_ he has two bottles of beer tingling in his veins and his heart pounding a bruising rhythm against the confines of his rib cage.  
  
Before he knows what he’s doing, before he can overthink it and talk himself out if it, Daryl breaches the remaining space between them. Presses his lips to her mouth. It’s clumsy and too harsh, he damn well nearly misses and Carol gasps the second he kisses her. Her lips feel even softer than he ever could have imagined and the faint taste of cherries floods his senses and- what the fuck is he doing?!  
  
He pulls away as quickly as he’d leaned in, rigid and tense as if someone had poured a bucket of icy water over him. He looks at Carol for all but half a second before he quickly looks away - her eyes big and round with surprise, lips parted just slightly. The rusty bed of his truck becomes much more interesting after that.  
  
“’m sorry,” he mutters, completely at loss about what to say. What he really wants to do is run for the hills but that’s hardly an option now. While he waits for Carol to start yelling at him, he toys with a loose seam on his jeans, fingers trembling, his chest tight and his stomach feeling heavy. “Don’t know why I di-”  
  
He grunts when Carol all but crashes into him, her hands on his shoulders and her lips pressing against his. The force of it sends him tumbling backwards, but Carol follows him, her chest pressed against his. His arm reaches out and curls around her waist by instinct alone, holding her steady as his eyes flutter shut and and his mind goes blank.  
  
Her lips are soft and pliant - _eager_ \- against his. A soft hum escapes her, the vibrations sending a shiver down his spine and his free hand comes up to cradle the back of her head. The curls of her hair feel like silk  between his fingers.  
  
When Carol traces the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip, Daryl nearly bolts off the truck bed, the hand at her waist squeezing and a groan rumbling deep in his chest. For a splint second, his lips part and Carol wastes no time, sliding her tongue against his lip once more before slipping it into his mouth.   
  
She tastes like cherries and cotton candy, all warm and sweet. His fingertips find bare skin where her shirt has ridden up and he splays his hand there, feeling the smoothness of her under his calloused palm. One of her hands finds his chest, rests against his heart, and he hopes she can feel it stuttering.  
  
When she pulls away - after a minute or a decade, he doesn’t know - her lips look plumb, her eyes darker than usual. Hovering above him, she holds his gaze.   
  
“Still sorry?” she breathes, the corners of her mouth curling up ever so slightly. Daryl shakes his head - confused as he still feels. But that hardly matters, not when Carol leans back down and presses her lips to his again.

  
This time, it’s softer, more delicate.

But just as perfect.


	27. wedding date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: breathtaking kiss

This had been a stupid idea. Ridiculous, really.

But he could never really say no to her and that’s why he’s sitting here now. At the wedding reception of people he’s never met, pretending to be Carol’s boyfriend.

Thing is: he wants to be her boyfriend. Husband. Whatever. And when they met five years ago, they might have developed into more than just friends. Had she not been married at the time. Her marriage had been the reason why their friendship had been a quiet one at the start, shy and chaste and more than a little awkward. Piece by piece he uncovered the truth of who she really was, of what she endured when she told him goodbye and went back home.

But that’s over now, the divorce long settled. She’s free. And from that freedom, something else than friendship might have developed. But he hadn’t wanted to push his luck then, pretty convinced that the last thing she wanted was to dive right back into another relationship.

That was three years ago, and they’re still no more than close friends.

Except today. Today, they’re a couple. 

She’d asked him about a month ago if he’d be willing to play along. Apparently, all her other male friends are either married, gay or _‘completely not believable’_ – whatever the hell she’d meant with that. It had felt a little like he was her last resort and that stung, but still he shrugged and told her yes when she asked him to be her plus one at her cousin’s wedding.

During her marriage, she’d lost contact with most of her family – thanks to her asshole of a husband. And after the divorce, she struggled to find a way back. Most of her relatives are apparently more than a little conservative, disapproving of her getting divorced, of being single, of not providing Sophia with a father figure. It’s all bullshit, he thinks. Carol’s doing a hell of a job raising that little girl, and that’s all that matters.

He doesn’t get why it’s anyone’s business if she’s with someone and frankly, he’s a bit angry about their disapproval of her divorce. She’d kept the real reason relatively private, not telling very many people about the abuse she suffered. Until this day, she struggles to put it into words – even to him, although she knows he suffered the same fate.

Now, a month later, he’s sitting at a large table in a barn in Kentucky, decorated with fairy lights and weird flower bouquets, eating fancy food that tastes like it cost a fortune.

So far, it’s been pretty easy. Most people didn’t pay any attention to them, others curiously asked his name and about his job. Nothing that made him too uncomfortable. There hadn’t been any acting involved really. Carol had taken his hand a few times, and while that was more physical contact with a woman than he’s had in years, he didn’t mind all that much.

Only now, it seems they are facing the one true challenge. Her grandmother.

Ninety years old, walking with a cane, dressed like she kept all her clothes from the sixties, and with a death stare that makes Daryl shrink into the hardwood floor, she’s the physical incarnation of the inquisition. He’s never been asked so many questions in his life. About himself, about where he’s from, how he grew up, what he does for a living, if he owns a house, if he can provide for Sophia, how he thinks about children of his own, how he and Carol met, when he thinks it’s appropriate to make an honest woman out of her.

Occasionally, he stutters out an incoherent answer. Mostly, though, Carol takes charge. And she’s a damn good liar. Had to be for too many years and it’s a skill that comes in handy now. He’s a little mesmerized by how easily she weaves a love story for them – although he doesn’t miss the fact that she barely lies at all, just embellishes the story of their friendship and omits the fact that they met when she was still married to Ed.

That would probably get him kicked out of the party.

She’s leaning into his side, hand curled around his, and she’s got a smile on her face that radiates and makes his stomach flutter a little because _God_ does he wish she’d smile at him like this all the time.

The twenty minutes they talk to her grandmother are some of the worst of his life, and when Carol’s cousin calls their grandmother over, Daryl feels a weight lifting off his chest. With pursed lips, the old woman excuses herself, slowly making her way over to the bride.

Either she massively disapproves of him or she didn’t buy a single word Carol said.

He can still feel her sharp eyes on them even as she talks to her other granddaughter, and he quickly looks away, afraid of appearing too suspicious. The last thing he wants is to ruin this for Carol.

“Well, she ain’t easy to con-” he starts, but Carol quickly interrupts him, hissing beneath her breath.

“Quick, kiss me.”

He’s confused and stares at her like an idiot, mouth open and eyes round, trying to comprehend her words when suddenly her hands frame his face. “Wha-”

Her lips press against his not a second later, soft and warm and he can taste the peach of her lip balm and the chocolate from her dessert. His heart pauses for a beat before his eyes flutter shut and his body melts, going from rigid to soft, his own hands finding a spot at her waist and cheek. Maybe it’s too much, but he can’t stop himself from brushing his thumb over her cheekbone, from pressing his fingers into her waist just slightly – beneath the table where nobody can see.

A soft sigh escapes her lips, and he has to stop himself from tracing her parted lips with the tip of his tongue.

Overwhelmed and breathing raggedly, he doesn’t fight her when she slowly pulls away. But he doesn’t open his eyes just yet, keeps them closed for a moment longer. The warmth of her breath still dampens his skin and so he knows she’s still close. Her hands haven’t moved from his cheeks, either, soft palms and fingers so tender and gentle.

When he dares to open his eyes, the sight of her takes his breath away. Damp, rosy lips parted in a silent gasp, her eyes full of surprise and curiosity, her pale cheeks tinted in the sweetest shade of red. They just look at each other for a moment, oblivious to everything around them.

“Sorry,” she whispers then, so quietly that nobody but him could possible understand. Her curiosity is turning into shyness and insecurity right in front of his eyes and he hates it. “She was looking over here and I thought-” It costs him all his bravery to lean in and press another kiss to her lips. Brief and chaste, just a delicate brush before he pulls away again, just enough to be able to look her in the eyes.

“Want some more of that chocolate stuff?” he asks, desperate not to make this awkward. Carol’s lips curl into a smile and her hand slips down over his chest, finding the one still pressed against her waist.

“Yeah,” she breathes, entwining their fingers.


	28. a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: a kiss that shouldn't happen

This is wrong. So wrong.  
  
The weight of her wedding ring is heavy on her hand, the one that is curled around the back of Daryl’s neck, fingertips sifting through soft hair, tugging him closer, closer, closer.  
  
If Ed ever finds out about this, it will be the last mistake she’s ever made. But the fear of that is washed away with every shy brush of Daryl’s lips against her own - dry and chapped but so warm, so gentle. There’s a shyness to his kiss that makes her heart swell in her chest, a sweetness she can almost taste on his lips.  
  
His hand is curled into a fist by her side, unsure and fidgeting. She wishes he’d touch her, pull her close and hold her - if only just this once. He’s strong but soft, warm but not burning, rough but sweet.   
  
With a sigh, she pulls back, parts the kiss that neither of them had initiated. It had just happened, a quiet progression of the company they keep. A secret. And it can never be more than that.   
  
Daryl looks at her with caution, sucking in a deep breath.  
  
“I can’t,” she whispers with a cracked voice, tears beginning to blur her vision - turning Daryl into an oil painting before her very eyes. He’s fading away, turning from solid into smeared colors and dusty memories. “I can’t.”  
  
She falls. Forward into his arms because there’s nowhere else to go. Her forehead presses against his chest, fingers clutching his shirt. As sobs wreck her body, he finally wraps his arms around her, rests his cheek against the crown of her head.   
  
“I know.” His voice breaks just like her own did, shy hands mapping out the expanse of her back, every dip of her spine. Like he’s trying to memorize her. For when he won’t get to hold her anymore.

She does the same. Breathes in the scent of him, curls her fingers tightly into the fabric of his shirt. Presses as much of herself against him as she can. In his arms, it’s almost easy to imagine what it could be like. To be with him. To lean into his side and fall asleep curled around him. To make love to him. To wake up and watch the sunbeams tickle his skin, to kiss him awake.

But it can’t be more than a dream, and the longer she stays in his arms, the more it will hurt to let go.

She wishes for so many things. To be braver, stronger, smarter. To have met him sooner. To live a life that holds room for him. That still offers hope.

As her tears soak into his shirt and his lips press a sad kiss to the top of her head, Carol mourns all that they could be – no, all that they could _have_ been. Even if she told him all this, it would only taste like ash on her tongue.

And so she keeps all the words she wants to say locked away.

_I need you. Thank you. You make me believe. I see myself when I’m with you. I want you. I want us._

The words are lost and meaningless when she pulls away, feeling nothing but cold where the warmth of him touched her.


	29. late night pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “I don’t care that it’s 2:00 am, we need pie.”

Yawning, Daryl follows the clattering sound of pots and dishes. The light in the kitchen just barely illuminates the hallway, enough to guide his way. Bare feet make little sound against the floor, and Carol doesn’t stir when he steps into the kitchen, eyeing her for a moment.

She’s in her pajamas, an apron tied securely around her. Bare feet bounce ever so slightly to a quiet tune she’s humming to herself as she cores a bucket full of cherries. He doesn’t even remember buying those. “The hell’s goin’ on here?” he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a lazy hand.

Carol startles briefly at the sound of his voice, whipping her head around. A smile greets him that should require more effort than any person can possibly have at their disposal at this time of night. “I’m making pie,” she replies matter-of-factly as if that wasn’t odd at all.

“Pie?” He can spot the ingredients spread out on the counter now. Jars of flour and sugar, the bowl of cored cherries all red and inviting.

Carol nods, popping a cherry into her mouth. “Cherry pie.”

He feels like he’s stuck in some kind of a joke that he doesn’t understand. “’s two in the mornin’,” he points out, shuffling over to the table and sitting down on the edge of it. The old wood creaks and crackles in protest.

“So?” Carol shrugs. “I don’t care that it’s 2:00 am. We need pie.” Her determination isn’t something unfamiliar – in fact, it had been one of the many things that drew him to her when they first met. But now, she sounds almost irritatingly determined. Like she feels attacked by his simple observation.

“All right,” he says with a softer voice. If she wants to bake in the dead of night then she can very well do it. He just wishes she’d be a little more quiet and let him sleep. Carol has other plans, though.

“I need you to do me a favor.” She puts the last handful of cored cherries into the bowl, tossing them in some sugar.

“Hmm?” he hums, fingers curled around the edge of the table, drumming along to the rhythm she’d hummed earlier, now stuck in his head.

“Drive down to the gas station and get some sugar. We’re almost out.” It’s an order more than a question and Daryl looks at her with creased brows for a moment.

“Ya kiddin’, right?” he asks, starting to feel like this really is some kind of a prank. Looking down at himself – worn sweatpants, washed out shirt and bare feet – he shakes his head. “I ain’t even dressed, Carol.” Even if he were, he’s got no motivation at all to drive anywhere this late. Or this early, he guesses, casting a glance at the clock on the wall. There’s almost no point in going back to sleep now.

“Put on shoes, nobody will care,” Carol quips, lost in her little dream world. Maybe she’s sleep-walking, Daryl wonders for a moment, eyeing her with concern. That’s never happened before. But she doesn’t really look like it, either. He doesn’t make a move to put on shoes, just watches as she stirs the cherries some more – stealing one for herself more often than not.

“What'ya makin’ pie for, anyway?” he asks, only now remembering that she doesn’t even really like cherry pie. “Y'ain’t pregnant, are ya?” he snorts, wondering if this would count as an odd craving. He ain’t got a clue if that’s really a thing, though.

Carol laughs, her tongue tracing a few dots of red from her bottom lip. “Of course I’m no-” She stops mid-sentence, her hand frozen around the large wooden spoon she’d used to toss the cherries. Her face is set in stone as well, eyes widened a little in surprise. Then, briskly, she shakes her head. “No. No way.”

She goes back to work, but she’s not humming anymore. The lightness is gone from her body, everything tense and she damn well smashes the cherries in the bowl now. “Carol?” he asks softly, pushing himself away from the table and taking a cautious step towards her. His heart stutters, nervousness pulsing through his veins because he’d just been joking but something is clearly off.

She sighs, putting down the spoon and turning around. The small of her back presses into the edge of the counter, her arms crossed in front of her chest. For a moment, she looks down at the ground but then, almost shyly, she faces him. “I’m not,” she says, sounding less than convinced and he can see a flicker of fear in her eyes when he stops in front of her. “Right?”

The look she gives him is almost pleading, confusing him only more. “Why y'askin’ me?” His voice is higher than usual, his hands fidgeting by his sides. Unsure what to do.

Carol lets out another sigh, more frustrated this time. “I don’t know,” she admits, and the mere possibility that she _might be_ pregnant makes him feel a whole bouquet of emotions he wasn’t prepared to deal with tonight. Or anytime soon. Or ever. They’ve talked about it a few times, having kids. But the time never felt right and it wasn’t something he desperately needed. With her, he could easily imagine it. But he’s learned the hard way not to push his luck and to be content with what he _does_ have. Instead of wasting his time wishing for what he _could_ have.

Lost in thought, Carol seems to count in her head, drumming her fingers as an aid. “I can’t remember when I- Shit.” Her teeth worry her bottom lip for a moment, and whatever conclusion she came to seems to not have done much to quench her fear. “Daryl?” He nods, trying and failing to swallow the lump in his throat. “Pick up a test?”


	30. filthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations.”

Blood and crusted dirt washes down the drain, the warm water raining down from above lapping his calloused skin. Carol’s hands are soft when she lathers the soap down his arms with a sponge, her chest pressed to his back.

If he wasn’t so damn tired and exhausted, he’d turn around and kiss her breathless, feel more of her skin against his. But not tonight.

“I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations,” she says, her voice a little muffled by the rush of the water. “Just use the crossbow. I don’t get why you’re always so grimy.”

He snorts, running a hand through his wet hair. It’s plastered to his skin and skull now, pitch black and squeaky clean. “Were a dozen or so,” he explains, eyes fluttering shut when she smooths her hands down his sides. “Too many for the crossbow.” He hums when she kneads his sore flesh, wondering if he could purr if he really tried.

“Sure,” Carol chuckles, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck. The simple, fleeting touch sends a rush of electricity down the length of his spine, warmth pooling deep in his guts that he really doesn’t need right now.

“Ain’t like you’ve never been filthy.” His hand reaches backward, finds the back of her head and runs his fingers through her damp curls.

Her hands smooths over the plane of his stomach now, fingers inching dangerously low. “Never this filthy. And never this quickly,” she replies with a low voice. Her breath is warm and ticklish against his shoulder blades, making him shudder. “You just showered this morning.”

As if he needed to be reminded of that. “So did you,” he rasps, turning around to face her. Her mouth curls into a smile when she feels him pressing against her, more eager than the rest of his body. This morning, he’d been almost _too_ eager, clutching her to him and kissing his way down her body, draping her leg over his shoulder and tasting all of her until she cried out his name. Her hands had clawed at him when she took him inside, the wall of the shower slippery against her back.

The memory alone makes him groan under his breath, and Carol doesn’t miss it.

“I don’t mind you getting filthy, you know?” she whispers, her hand slipping down between them to curl around the base of him. “I like the getting clean part. A lot.”


	31. disagreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow up to _the dog_.

He’s never made a better decision than to let the dog out into the garden. If he hadn’t, there’d be a whole lot of barking and jumping around right about now and he only _just_ managed to get the baby to sleep.

Quietly, he shuts the door to the bedroom, the baby monitor clutched in his sweaty hands. With slow steps, he makes his way to the front door, relief washing over him when he sees Carol and Sophia shrugging out of their boots.

“Where have you _been_ , I was ready to call the police!” he asks, his blood rushing in his ears.

Carol had left to pick up Sophia from the Grimes’ house hours ago. It wasn’t unusual for them to stay a bit longer, chit chatting the time away in ways he never really understood. He and Rick are friends, yes, but there’s never much need for more than a few words at a time.

When an hour had passed, he’d sent her a text, asking if she was going to be home for lunch. She hadn’t replied and he hadn’t stressed about it too much. Sometimes, she forgot to check her phone. Instead, he’d taken the baby outside, sat her down on a blanket, watched her giggle and fumble and play with some daisies as the dog lay by her side, guarding her.

After two hours, he’d tried calling her. Nobody picked up. That was around the same time he started to worry. He’d allowed another thirty minutes to pass before he called Lori. When she told him that Carol and Sophia had left an hour earlier, his heart sank into his stomach. It’s a twenty-minute drive from their place to here.

But Lori had calmed him down a little, saying that Carol mentioned wanting to stop by somewhere on the way back.

That had been two hours ago, and he hadn’t been able to clear his mind the entire time. Carrying a fussing baby around, humming, chatting, making funny faces when deep down he was more afraid than he’d been in a long time.

But they’re here now, smiling and sharing a mischievous glance.

“Sorry, I had no service,” Carol explains, pulling her phone from her bag and setting it down on the table by the door. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He knows she would never do that to him on purpose and so forgiveness comes easily. It always does. His curiosity, however, remains. “Where’ve ya been?” he asks again, taking Sophia’s coat from her hands and hanging it up on the hook on the wall.

She’s bouncing up and down almost instantly, her eyes beaming with elation. “Daddy, we had the best time!” she gasps, and he bites back a warning to stay quiet and not wake her little sister. “We found a house. We’re going to live there.” Sophia announces this as a fact, grinning like she won the lottery. Daryl knows his own expression is the exact opposite, and his eyes flicker between Sophia and Carol in confusion.

“What?” he asks, forehead in creases. A smile ghost over Carol’s face, but she remains quiet. Just crosses her arms in front of her chest and watches her daughter as she recounts what they did like the most fantastical story.

“A house, Daddy,” she nearly sings, crashing into him and curling her arms around his middle until he has no other option but to lift her up. Skinny legs wrap around his stomach, squeezing tight, and she beams at him with freckled, flushed cheeks, two missing teeth greeting him when she grins. “Our own house. It’s by a lake and I’ll have a big room with big windows all by myself and we can swim there and there’s fireflies and-“

“A house?” he interrupts her, giving up waiting for her to finish. “ _Our_ house?”

This time when he looks at Carol, she grants him mercy and takes over for Sophia. “You always say it’s too cramped in here. And you’re right, especially with the dog and the baby. We need more space. So, we went house hunting.“

She’s not wrong. This place was big enough for them when they were just three people. Th garden is tiny and they’re going to have to renovate the attic to make room for the baby eventually, but he never actually considered moving out. And a lake house seems a little excessive. Plus, this topic never came up before. Not once. “A house?” he repeats, setting Sophia down. “We ain’t buyin’ a _house_.”

Small hands tug at his shirt. “Daddy, there’s a lake!” Sophia says for good measure as if that alone would convince him to spend a shit ton of money they don’t have on a house they don’t need. She pouts a little when her enthusiasm doesn’t show on his face. “I don’t want to share my room,” she declares, dropping his hand and crossing her arms defiantly across her chest.

That had been their emergency plan should their landlord not agree to the renovations in the attic. Sophia had made her point even then, declaring she would move out should she have to share her room with her sister. She’d even packed a bag for emphasis.

Daryl sighs. “Please tell me ya didn’t sign anythin’.”

As well as he can usually read Carol, the expression that crosses her face now is one he can’t quite figure out. She steps over to him, rests her hands on his shoulders. “What would you do if I did?” she asks quietly, her blue eyes twinkling. His own nearly pop out of his skull, sweat pearling on his skin. Then, however, Carol giggles, slightly swatting his shoulder. “Of course not, Pookie. Don’t worry,” she reassures him, rising up onto her tip toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “But we _are_ buying that house,” she whispers, quietly enough for Sophia not to overhear it. But she’s already bouncing off towards the back door, mostly likely to let the dog inside.

“I hate ya,” Daryl mutters, not quite able to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching.

Carol smiles, curling her hand around his neck. “I love you, too.”


	32. haunted house II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “No, the house is definitely not haunted, why do you ask?”
> 
> This is a follow-up to _haunted house_.

“I love what you did with the place, it’s so cozy,” Lori says with a smile, taking a long look around the living room. Everything is still a little messy, some of the shelves empty, the throw cushions not matching the new wallpaper. But they’ve made so much progress and Carol is proud of that.

“Thank you,” she says, taking a sip of tea and curling her hand around Daryl’s. He blushes a little, still unable to accept compliments. “Took a lot of work.”

Rick nods, nudging the toe of his boot against the hardwood floor. “Where’d you get the wood for the floor? It’s really-”

“Mommy, look what Carl and I found in the attic.” Sophia’s voice silences Rick. She and Carl come rushing into the living room, something dangling from her daughter’s hand that Carol doesn’t immediately recognize.

“You were in _the attic_?” she all but cries at her daughter, whipping her head around to look at Daryl. There’s a fire in her eyes that makes him shrink. “You said you locked it,” she hisses, panic surging through her. She pushes herself off the couch, wildly gesticulating. “Sophia put that thing down,” she orders with a firm voice, pointing at the old and ragged looking doll the kids found. “Put it down!” she repeats when Sophia doesn’t let go, and she drops it then, looking a little startled.

“Carol, calm down, what’s-” Lori tries to intervene, but Carol barely listens to her.

“Why were you in the attic, Sophia?” she asks, trying hard not to raise her voice any more than she already has. “I told you not to-”

Two warm hands rest on her arms, a solid chest pressing into her back. “Carol, hey. Sweetheart, calm-”

“You said you locked it!” she screeches, turning around with so much force that it nearly sends Daryl tumbling backward. But she doesn’t focus any more of her attention on him, turning back around just in time to see Carl reaching out for the doll on the floor. “Don’t touch that!”

Lori has made her way to her confused son by now, eyeing her with concern. “What’s the matter, you talk like the attic is-”

“No, the house definitely is not haunted,” Carol replies a little too quickly, out of breath and with a nervous tingle in her stomach. “Why do you ask?”

“Nobody… asked that, Carol,” Rick states, arms crossed in front of his chest and his brow creased. “Are you okay?”

She sucks in a deep breath, kneading her fingers, trying to catch her breath and not appear like a complete lunatic.

“Everybody calm down,” Daryl eventually intervenes. He curls his hands around her arms again and this time she doesn’t fight him. “’m sorry. Must’ve forgotten to lock it,” he says quietly to her, rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles against her skin. “Ya knew ya weren’t supposed ta be up there.” The words are aimed at Sophia and the little girl looks down at the ground in defeat. She’s too curious for her own good. “Ain’t safe. Haven’t done much work up there, ’s all really old,” Daryl tries to explain to Lori and Rick, sounding pretty convincing. After all, it’s not a lie. It’s the only logical reason rather than Carol’s irrational fear of the house.

“Oh,” Lori sighs, turning towards her son. “Carl, why did you go up there?”

The boy blushes, looking down at his feet. “Sorry, Mom. We won’t do it again.”

An awkward silence fills the room after that, and Carol suddenly feels embarrassed about her outburst. She loves the house, really does. But once the idea of something more sinister hiding within the old wooden frame took hold of her, she hasn’t been able to shake it. “I’m going to go get some coffee,” she mutters, quickly leaving the room.

The kitchen still smells like freshly baked cake and coffee, and she holds on to the counter for a moment, catching her breath. Outside, the large fields stretch on beyond the house, bordering on the deep forest. It’s idyllic and quiet and everything she wanted.

Quiet steps behind her make her smile despite her current state, and when Daryl’s arms wrap around her middle she doesn’t hesitate to lean back into his chest. “’m sorry, Carol,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Really.” She nods, knows that he must’ve forgotten. He wouldn’t leave it open on purpose after she told him to keep it locked. “’s all good,” he promises, drawing soothing circles against her hip.

“You really think so?” she asks, craning her neck to look up at him.

He nods, offering her a faint smile. “That doll’s creepy as shit, though,” he chuckles. “How ‘bout we burn it later?”

She starts laughing against her will, swatting his hand. “Stop.”


	33. okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Stop telling me you’re okay.”

Her kisses taste like vanilla and warm Georgia nights. Like _home_. All sweet and soft and eager in a way he’s never felt before. Like she _wants_ him.

Beneath his calloused hands her skin feels impossibly soft – even the scars that are scattered over milky, pale flesh. His breath is warm against her thrumming pulse point, the sound of her name muffled into the crook of her shoulder where he hides his blush, all his walls down, crumbled in a pile on the floor along with their clothes.

Clever fingers sift through his hair until he hums, nails scraping lightly down his scalp. Long legs curl around his waist, pulling him down against her, inside of her. Just an inch. All warm and wet and _tight_ and he bites the inside of his cheek – the pain numbing just how perfect she feels around him.

Her gasp distracts him, pulls him from his trance and he rests his weight on his elbows, lifts his head to look at her. Freckled cheeks flushed, eyes closed, bottom lip kiss-swollen and pulled between her teeth.

“Y'all right?” He asks in a breathy whisper, watching her throat bop as she swallows. Her nod is slight and shallow, but before he can say anything else she reaches for him, pulls him down for a deep kiss, languid and slow.

Her heels dig into the small of his back, pushing him further inside of her and _fuck_ he’s not going to last, not when she’s this tight, not when-

She winces into the kiss and he pulls back, still his hips, not even halfway inside of her.

“It’s okay,” she says quickly before he even has a chance to ask, hugging him tighter with her legs and he sinks in another inch, groaning deep in his chest. But she’s stiff against him, all rigid and tense. Gone is the softness of her. She’d been pliant under his touch when he kissed her before, when his hands explored every inch of her, when his lips followed the same path, shy and insecure but wanting nothing more than to make her feel good.

Now, she looks like she’s in pain, her forehead in creases.

He moves to pull out but she stops him, curls her fingers into his hair and pulls him closer. “Don’t, please. It’s-”

“Stop telling me you’re okay.” His voice breaks, his body trembling with the restraint of not pushing into her. “Y'ain’t okay.”

She sighs, sounding frustrated but there are tears welling in her eyes. His heart clenches at the sight, stuttering in his chest – not understanding what he did wrong.

“Tell me what to do,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to hers, allowing their lips to brush feather lightly. Carol takes a deep breath, her chest rising and pressing her bare breasts against his chest. She feels so damn good and he begs that he can fix this because he doesn’t want this to be the only time he gets to hold her like this.

“It’s been so long,” she whispers, her hand finding his back, fingers just barely grazing one of the worse scars. He tenses a little, fingers curling into the sheets. But he understands.

“We can stop.”

Her legs tighten around his waist. “No, please. I don’t want to stop,” she breathes, blinking away the tears. “I want this. With you.”

His heart swells and his lips press against hers without hesitation, the kiss tearing a moan from her throat. Slowly, the kiss deepens, his tongue tracing her bottom lip, yearning to taste the sweet of her. She grants him access, sighs into the kiss and smooths her hand down his back, resting against his hips. Ever so slightly, she tilts her own hips upwards, sucking him another inch inside.

With a trembling hand, he traces the silhouette of her. Ghosting over her collarbone, cupping the warm weight of a breast in his palm, feathering his fingertips over the quivering plane of her stomach until he finds the center of her, warm and slick and she claws at him when he draws his thumb over her, the kiss suddenly messy and clumsy but it doesn’t matter.

Slowly, she melts against him, all soft pants and ragged breaths, eager hands and trembling legs. When she pulls away from the kiss and looks up at him with blue eyes the shade of the midnight sky, Daryl knows they’ll be okay. That this is really what she wants.

Agonizingly slowly, he pushes into her until he can go no further, shuddering when he feels her wrapped around him. “Love ya,” he chokes into her shoulder, hating himself for saying it now. But it’s been true for so long and she doesn’t seem to mind. Kisses his temple and rocks against him, slow and gentle.

“I love you, too.”


	34. a hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I could just use a hug”

Something’s wrong. He can tell.

She hasn’t said a single word in almost an hour. Their ability to spend long periods of time in comfortable silence is one of the reasons he likes being around Carol so much, but this is different. She’s tense, flicking the pages of her Biology textbook, tilting her head from side to side as if she’s waiting for her neck to crack. Even before they started working on their homework she hasn’t said much. Hasn’t teased him once since he arrived at her place and that must be some kind of a record.

Maybe she’s coming down with that bug that’s been going around. She doesn’t look sick, though. Just as pretty as always- He shakes that thought off quickly, trying to focus on his essay. He’s only written half a page, though and right now he can’t even remember what the hell that damn book had been about, much less what the character’s motivation had been. Most likely, the author just wrote the first thing that came to mind that day and now he has to sweat over it.

Maybe she’s on her period. But he’s been friends with her for almost two years now so she must’ve had her period a bunch of times – he’s never really noticed a change. Maybe she’s got some other girl thing, ain’t like he has a clue what she might be dealing with.

_Maybe…_ She went on a date with Peletier last night. The guy is a grade A asshole but she’d been exited, beaming like a firefly all week. That light is gone now.

She sighs, drumming her pencil against her notepad and shifting her body where she sits cross-legged on her bed. The thick wool throw blanket that’s always spread over her bed is soft as shit, and he watches as she starts picking at a few seams absent-mindedly.

“Hey, y'all right?” he asks then, unable to take the silence a moment longer. Carol looks up at him in surprise, almost like she forgot he’s even here. “Kinda quiet.”

Her eyebrows disappear under a few loose, auburn curls and the corners of his mouth quirk up into a fleeting smile. Usually, he’s the silent one. Unless he has something to say, he prefers the quiet. With Carol, it comes naturally. And when he _does_ have something to say, she is the best listener. Words aren’t his strong suit but she never seems to mind when he can’t quite find the right ones.

“I’m fine,” she replies then, already looking down at the book in her lap again. She’s lying.

For a moment, Daryl wonders if he should just leave her be. If she doesn’t want to tell him then that’s fine. But she has a tendency to keep her problems to herself until they grow into beasts that eat her alive and maybe he can kill this one before it even has a chance to do that to her.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, not even pretending like he doesn’t know she was lying. Her shoulders sag a little and her blue eyes flicker up towards him.

Softly, she shakes her head. “No. I could just use a hug.”

His eyes widen a little, and Carol doesn’t seem any more composed, worrying her bottom lip shyly between her teeth. They’ve never hugged before and she sure as hell never asked him to touch her in any way. It’s not something he does. Ever.

But she’s asking him now.

And if that’s what she needs, then he’s going to at least try.

Clearing his throat, Daryl puts down his pen, awkwardly leaning over towards Carol. She seems a little surprised that he’s actually going for it but that only lasts a second before she helps him out, breaching the remaining distance and wrapping her arms around his shoulder.

She feels so small against him, warm and soft. His eyes flutter shut against his will, and when he takes a deep breath he can smell vanilla and peaches and nothing has ever been this sweet. Still, this isn’t something he’s good at and his arms feel stiff when they wrap loosely around her middle.

Carol relaxes a little against him, though, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her auburn curls tickle his chin, feeling silky soft.

“Daryl?” she breathes, the warmth of her breath soaking into his shirt and sending a shiver down his spine. “Do you think I’m boring?”

There’s so much insecurity seeping from her question that he’s not used to hearing from her and it makes his heart clench in his chest. Anger begins to boil in his veins and he pulls back far enough to look down at her face – so much closer now than ever before, all the tiny details bared for him to see. The different shades and sizes of her freckles, the pink of her lips, the million shades of blue in her eyes, framed by long lashes.

“That what Peletier said?” he asks, keeping his voice calm but not quite able to banish the spite from them. He never liked the idea of her spending time with that guy but it’s neither his place nor his business to tell her who to be around. After all, most of her friends weren’t’ very happy when she started being _his_ friend. “Cause he’s a real dick if he said that.”

Boring is the last thing Carol is. She’s fascinating. Mesmerizing. Funny and kind and sweet all in one. She has a mouth on her that can make him blush like a tomato, but she can also smile with so much light that it chases away the shadows that follow him everywhere he goes. She’s smart and tough, she’s every good thing he can think of all wrapped in one. Sure, nobody is perfect. But whatever flaws she might have are small and of little importance – and boring is a word that would never even cross his mind.

There are tears welling in her eyes now. “He’s a dick, then,” she sniffs, trying to laugh to mask up how much his words must’ve really hurt her.

“Hey,” Daryl says quietly, resting two fingers under her chin and lifting her head to face him. “He’s an ass. Y'ain’t boring at all.” His face is turning redder with every word he forces himself to say, embarrassment turning his mouth dry. But Carol listens intently, her brows crease slightly, fingers curled around his arms. “He’s the walkin’ cliché. Don’t let him- Don’t let him hurt ya, okay?”

For a moment, she’s quiet. It stretches on like a decade and Daryl wonders if he said the wrong thing. But then her lips curl into a smile, and she defiantly wipes a stray tear away.

“You’re right. He’s not worth it.”

Before he can say anything, before he can even nod in agreement, Carol leans in and presses her lips to his cheek, lingering there for a moment. “Thank you,” she breathes, and when she leans back and lets go of him, Daryl is the silent one again. Lips parted. Eyes wide.

She turns back to her textbook, but all he can focus on is the tingle of her touch on his skin.


	35. merle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You need to eat something.”

When he returns to the prison, it’s dark outside. She watches his silhouette as he digs a grave, lingering there in the pale moonlight. She’s tired, so tired, but she waits. Knows there’s nothing she can say he wants to hear. No way she can comfort him that he’ll accept.

But he comes to her anyway. After. The dirt is still fresh on his hands, blood beginning to crust. His brother’s blood. Still faintly warm when he shrugs out of his vest. Puts it down on the rusty table. He stands there, dead silent, in the middle of her cell. The oil lamp flickers, casting ominous shadows on the wall and his face. It makes him look old, haunted. Thin.

He sits down on the edge of her bed, as far away from her as he can. Tear trails are still fresh on his cheeks. Glistening in the dim light.

She sighs. Allows her hand to drop onto the thin mattress between them. Not touching him, but making a silent offer. He doesn’t take her hand. Just stares into the nothingness of the concrete wall. Likely seeing his dead brother the same way she sees her little girl in the darkness of the night.

He’d held her that day, kept her from falling apart. Now, she longs for nothing more than to do the same for him. And more. To let him cry on her shoulder and fall asleep in her arms. If this is truly their last night here, then she wants it to count.

But he wouldn’t let her. And with the future so uncertain, she doesn’t want to risk the bond that they have.

She leans back against the concrete wall, tucks her legs beneath her. Eventually, sleep claims her, a dreamless state of calm that never lasts for long.

 

When she wakes, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Daryl still sits in the same place, forearms resting on his thighs and she might think he hasn’t moved an inch if not for the thin blanket draped over her body.

She knows he didn’t sleep and so she doesn’t bother asking. Slowly, she moves to sit on the edge of the bed, stretching her arms and neck, every inch of her body feeling sore and exhausted. Daryl looks at her for a brief moment before looking away again.

“We should go down,” she says, her voice still riddled with sleep. The others aren’t up yet, it’s too quiet for that. There’s still time before they wake, before they leave this place behind. “You need to eat something.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Ain’t hungry,” he replies. The first words he’s spoken since he returned. She can still hear the tears lacing his voice.

“I know,” she sighs, pushing herself off the bed. “Me, neither.”

 

When she steps out of her cell he doesn’t follow her straight away. A few minutes later, she pours cold water into a package of oats, stirring and longing for a stack of warm, fluffy pancakes. A creak on the stairs alerts her.

“Got one of those left?” Daryl asks, lingering at the bottom of the stairs, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth.

She smiles softy. “More than you can eat.”

 

Later that morning, she offers him her hand again. This time, he takes it.


	36. nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I heard you scream.Nightmares again?"
> 
> _set post all out war, daryl and carol live in the creepy house_

Carol sucks deep breaths into her uncooperative lungs. She can still feel the grip of cold, lifeless, blood-stained fingers around her throat. Can still taste roasted pecans on her lips – parted on a gasp. Faintly, she can hear a girl laughing in a field of sweet-smelling wild flowers.

There’s a knock on her door that doesn’t surprise her and she chokes out a _come in_ , the room still so dark except for the sliver of moonlight that stretches across the bed.

Daryl’s head peeks into her room, his hand curled around the edge of the door. “Heard ya scream. Nightmares again?” he asks, keeping his voice down when there’s no reason. It’s just them out here in the middle of nowhere, nobody to bother them, to make them do anything. But even within this solitude, the nightmares won’t go away.

They’ve never really talked about them, but there’s a silent understanding that they exist. They all have nightmares now, even when they are awake. But somehow, Daryl seems to understand that hers are different. Even though she hasn’t been able to tell him why. It’s a secret that still rests heavily on her heart, and there are too many days she almost wishes she’d taken it to her grave the way Tyreese did.

She nods, swallowing the lump in her throat and uncurling her fists, fingers digging into the sheets. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she breathes hoarsely. He looks like he’d finally found some rest, his shirt and worn sweatpants wrinkled, feet clad only in socks, his hair a mess on top of his head.

The nightmares haunt him, too. She can hear him sometimes, the walls of the house too thin for secrets. Grunting in his sleep, breathing heavily, gasping in fear when he wakes. But she never comes to him. And until now, he hasn’t come to her, either. Not since the first night when he’d burst into her room with his hand curled around a knife.

“’s all right,” he says, lingering by the door.

There’s a distance between them still that feels unfamiliar and wrong. Even now that he’s here with her, sharing her sanctuary, everything that happened still piles between them, filling every moment of silence with a tension that they were spared before.

“Why do you sleep out there?” Carol asks, the words tumbling from her mouth without much thought. The couch is soft and comfortable enough, Heaven compared to what they had to put up with on the road. But it only adds to the distance between them that she longs to fill.

He shrugs, and even in the pale moonlight she can see his cheeks flaming up. He has changed so much since that day she met him at the Quarry, angry and loud and yet wasting away in his brother’s shadow. He’s quieter now. Carrying the same scars. But they only rarely translate into rage these days. The pain they cause is an internal one. Still, deep down he’s still the same man. A little too shy for his rough appearance. A little too insecure for all the harsh words he can speak.

“There’s enough room here,” she says, patting the cold, unused side of the bed. Even as she says it her stomach feels heavy. She’s not sure if she’s ready for what she’s offering.

They’ve slept close together before - during that first winter on the road. Pressed together for warmth. Out of necessity. Now, the room is bathed in a comfortable warmth. There’s no real reason for her to invite him in here.

“’m fine,” he dismisses her, relief and disappointment mingling in her heart. She just nods, though, never having expected him to actually accept. “Y'all right?” he asks, changing the subject and it makes her recall the reason he’s here, fading memories of the dream haunting her and she suddenly feels cold.

There was a time when she’d told him _yes_. But it would be a lie now. He knows the true answer is _no_ , that she’s far from all right. If she tells him that, though, there’s nothing he can do to change it.

“I think I can go back to sleep,” she says instead, offering Daryl a weak smile. It’s not a lie, she can already feel the exhaustion and fatigue crawling deep into her bones. Some nights, after jolting awake from another nightmare, she can’t even stay in bed. And she knows that he’s aware. But tonight, she longs for the rest.

“'kay.”

Daryl turns on his feet then, slowly beginning to close the door behind him. “Daryl?”

He freezes, turns on the spot.

“The offer still stands, you know? Just… If it gets too cold out there.”

The words linger in the silence that follows, and Carol wonders if she pushed him too far – pushed herself too far. But then Daryl gives her one of those faint smiles she’s missed so much. Just a tiny quirk of the corner of his mouth. He nods but turns anyway.

The door falls shut with a quiet thud and in the silence she’s left in, Carol can still hear a little girl’s laughter turning into bone chilling screams.


	37. sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: just staying in to watch the sunset and stars on the balcony

He’d wanted to take her out properly. To that nice new restaurant. Took him a week to get a reservation there. Hell, he even bought a new shirt. Dark blue with actual sleeves. It feels itchy and stiff against his skin but it’s better than anything else he owns. Got his hair trimmed the day before. Wanted to prove to her he can be more than just a dirty redneck.

It’s a miracle she wants to go out with him at all. Ain’t like he’s much of a catch.

Carol, however, she’s a hell of a woman. Funny, smart, kind. Tough. Beautiful.

 

His nerves had been raw all day. His heart pounding. Only, when he’d driven over to her house to pick her up, the sky had darkened. Quick. He’d barely set a foot on her front porch when the rain started pouring from the dark gray sky.

The trees swayed in the wind, hail hammering down on the suddenly deserted street. Carol had ushered him inside – looking breathtaking with her silver hair curling around her ears and her blue eyes twinkling, a blue dress and white cardigan fluttering down her body.

As the summer storm raged outside, there’d been no point in even trying to get to the restaurant.

 

So here they are, sitting side by side on the top step of her porch.

Quietly, they’d listened to the rain drumming down on the roof, had watched the clouds clearing, revealing the pale pink sunset. They’d watched as the rosy sky turned into a deep blue, stars shimmering like jewels on a smooth canvas.

Two half-empty glasses of lemonade sit on the lower step by their feet, two empty plates next to them on the porch, only crumbs remaining from the sandwiches they’d eaten. It’s not at all how he imagined this night would go, but he can’t help but shake the feeling that he’s more comfortable here than he ever would’ve been at the restaurant.

Mostly, they are quiet. Every now and then, Daryl feels like he needs to fill the silence – that’s what people do on a first date right? Talk about stuff. Only, they already know so much about each other, and being comfortable in silence comes easily to them.

A shooting star shimmers above them and from his peripheral he can see Carol’s lips turning into a sweet smile. Briefly, he closes his eyes, makes a wish. It’s ridiculous – ain’t like he believes in this shit. But he makes a wish all the same.

“’m sorry we couldn’t go,” he says after a while. She’s wearing the dress and earrings and make up – thinking she went through all the trouble just to go out with him seems ridiculous. It makes him feel guilty about not being able to actually take her out and being stuck at her place instead.

She turns to look at him, the stars reflecting in her clear eyes. “I don’t mind,” she says with a smile, pink lips parted a little. He wonders if they feel as soft as they look but that’s a thought he pushes away quickly. “Maybe we can go some other time.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Daryl wipes his suddenly clammy palms against his thighs. “Ya wanna?” He swears to himself in that moment that he’s going to make the next date perfect. Something she won’t forget. Hell, he’ll do anything for her, even though he’s clueless about all this stuff.

“Yes,” she says with a light nod and the sweetest smile that makes his cheek turn into a deeper shade of red. He hopes she can’t see that in the pale moonlight.

He startles a little when she allows her hand to fall next to her thigh, her fingertips grazing his palm. “I love this smell,” she whispers, eyes closed and breathing in deeply. The smell of a summer rain lingers thickly in the air, mingling with the bloom of the flowers and the freshness of cut lawn.

“Yeah, ’s nice,” he rasps, struggling to find his voice. Another smile ghosts over Carol’s lips, all soft and dream-like. Gathering all his courage, Daryl slowly moves his hand, wraps it around her own. She doesn’t hesitate to lace her fingers with his – her hand so smooth and soft against his own calloused skin.

“It’s really nice.” Her voice is just a whisper. He can hardly hear her over the pounding of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears when she leans over towards him, her head coming to rest against his shoulder.

_Nice_ seems like too small a word to describe how this feels. Much too small.


	38. undercover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "What happens when your ships go on an undercover mission together"

“Nancy!”

She gasps when a strong hand curls around her wrist, tugging her away from the door frame and into the hallway. She stumbles a little in the damn black heels she’s wearing, but she makes no move to defend herself. The voice hissing her cover name is a familiar one, after all.

“What-” She watches as Daryl pulls open the door to a broom closet, his other hand still curled firmly around her wrist. “What are you-”

“Shut up,” he hisses and she feels her mouth widening a little. He’s got a foul mouth but he’s not usually rude to her.

Huffing, she digs her heels into the polished hardwood floor. “Excuse me?”

He looks over his shoulder, a sheepish expression on his face. “Quiet,” he corrects himself, earning himself an eye roll from her. She quickly forgives him, though, too distracted by the sight of him all cleaned up in a fitted suit and combed hair. Also, there’s the constant rush of adrenaline in her veins from being inside of this house at all with no real backup.

Daryl tugs at her arm and she reluctantly follows him into the closet, casting a quick glance around the hallway to make sure nobody saw them. But there’s nobody around and if anything, someone spotted him tugging her into the hallway. “Why are we hiding in the closet?” she asks with a whisper when he shuts the door and for a moment they are engulfed in complete darkness.

A few slivers of light shine through the shutters in the door, but it takes a little while for her eyes to adjust enough to make out Daryl’s silhouette.

“I think Blake knows somethin’s fishy,” he mutters, eyes cast towards the door. There’s a tension to his body that tells her he’s not joking around.

“Oh, and hiding in a _closet_ isn’t going to make us look suspicious at all,” she replies, meaning to press her hands into her hips but realizing his fingers are still curled around her wrist. Warm and calloused.

He shrugs, turns to face her. “We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

They’ve been partners for five years now and there’s not a person in this world she trusts more. “Do we have to abort?” It would ruin a year’s worth of hard work to end the mission now, but their safety always has been their first priority. Carol loves her job, the thrill of it. But what she loves most is her little girl and she won’t take unnecessary risks. Coming home to Sophia is the only thing that matters.

“Nah.” Daryl shakes his head, sounding somber. “Might never get close enough again. Gotta be tonight.”

She takes a deep breath, her lungs aching in the tight, red dress she’s wearing. “Okay.” They can do this, are more than well prepared. They know this bastard is behind the underground fight clubs. They just need proof. “I’ll go talk to Blake, you distract Milton,” she tells him, thinking that maybe Blake will respond better to a plunging neckline and the right smile.

Daryl’s grasp on her wrist tightens almost instantly. “Hell, no. Ain’t lettin’ ya close to the bastard on y'own.”

Her brows crease. This is new. He’s a little protective of her sometimes, yes. Usually, she doesn’t mind, is grateful that he has her back and isn’t just focused on his own safety. But he’s never once tried to tell her what to do. “Are you shitting me right now?” she hisses, and almost instantly he deflates a little, his head inching down towards his chest. Behind his rough exterior, he’s too soft and vulnerable for his own good.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Just… Stay safe, all right? “

The smile that curves her lips is a soft one, a stark contrast to the crimson red lips and tight dress she’s wearing. “Nine lives, remember? “

“Think y'already used up plenty o’ those,” he mutters. Their old saying that started out as a joke during their first year as partners together has become endearing by now. But there’s a somber tone to his voice that has been seeping into it more and more lately. So far, they’ve been spared. No serious injuries or mishaps. Maybe they’re both silently waiting for the other shoe to drop eventually.

Daryl sighs, turning towards the door, his fingers beginning to fall away from her wrist.

“Wait.” He stills. Carol swallows the lump in her throat, suddenly all too aware of how close they are, no more than a few inches of space between them. Close enough for the scent of the cologne he’d put on the make the mask perfect filling her nostrils.

Taking a deep breath, she breaches the distance between them, lifting her hands to his chest. Under his jacket, he feels warm and firm, his heart pounding against her palm. “What'ya doin’?” he rasps, low and gravelly and making her tremble despite the heat that licks her veins.

“We need a reason to be hiding away in the closet,” she whispers, ignoring the weakness in her knees as the tip of her nose nudges his.

He doesn’t flinch, but he tenses just like she expected. The fact that he doesn’t slip from her grasp is encouraging, though, and makes her stomach flutter. “Car-”

“Nancy,” she breathes, relishing the warm of his breath against her parted lips, the scent of whiskey and smoke thick in the electric air between them. “My name’s Nancy, remember?” Slowly, she smooths her hand over his shoulder and to his neck, fingertips grazing the strands of his hair. “And Nancy is your wife.”


	39. the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: find out each other’s darkest secret.

After she tells him, the world goes quiet. It’s like all the life that still existed in it was paused. He can’t hear the birds in the sky or the wind rustling the leafs.

Carol doesn’t look at him – hasn’t looked at him at all since she told him. Whispered the secret into the crisp autumn day with a broken voice and glassy eyes. Like a ghost it filled the air around them, sending a shiver down his spine.

He’d known. Deep down, he’d always known. Carol wasn’t easily shaken, had endured so much and came out of the storm stronger. So, when she’d found them then, after the prison and the tracks and Terminus, he’d known that whatever happened on the road must have been too terrible to imagine. The woman he left behind at the prison was glowing with light and joy in his eyes despite the terrors of this world. The woman he held in his arms that day in the woods was a mere shell of who he’d known.

All this time, she carried the weight of what happened to her. All alone after Tyreese took it to his grave. Knowing she endured this pain for so long brings tears to Daryl’s eyes. He blinks them away, takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t know what else-” Carol whispers, her arms crossed in front of her chest, knuckles white as she digs her nails into her own skin. “Judith…”

What she did – what she _had_ to do – is not something he can just brush off. Telling her that it’s all right, that she had no other choice, that she saved the baby’s life, did that girl a kindness – none of that will make a difference. She won’t hear it over the suffocating veil of her own guilt.

“Judith’s still here,” he says, his voice hoarse with the tears he bites back. He’s not mourning that girl. He’s not shocked and disgusted with she did. What Carol did. Hell, they’ve all done so much since the world went to shit. Nobody has any right to judge her – least of all himself. “Ya kept her safe.”

She seems so frail. Like she’s about to crumble into ash any minute, at the slightest breeze. He wants to wrap his arms around her to prevent that from happening because _fuck_ \- he needs her. Can’t be in this world without her. There ain’t nothing more important than her.

Walkers, other people – he can protect her from that. Taught her how to protect herself – a long time ago. He can find food for her, water. A safe place to find some rest. What he can not protect her from is herself and the demons that live inside her head. And for so many months now, those demons have been eating away at her, at her strength, her resilience. The woman he-

“I killed her.” The words are like ice down his neck and he looks down at the dry ground. A few leafs are scattered there, crunching under his boot. “She was just a little girl.”

His hand – calloused, blood and dirt crusting under his nails, rough and worn – falls down. Finds hers – softer, more delicate, tender. She struggles for a moment, trying to pull her hand out of his – unable to accept the comfort he so desperately wants to offer her. But after a second, she stills. Sighs in defeat.

She’s limp when he pulls her into his side, when her head falls into place against the crook of his shoulder. His pulse thrums rapidly, heart beating fast enough for the both of them. He’ll do that for a while if it’s what she needs. Take over for her. Let her be at peace.


	40. keep me warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: keeping each other warm
> 
> set in an AU where they never left the prison.

All he wanted was to ask her if anything needed to be added to the list for the run tomorrow morning. Everyone was ready for bed, the prison quiet except for the faint hum of quiet conversations and Judith’s soft blabbering in the cell downstairs.

But he knew Carol wouldn’t be asleep yet. She never is. The faint, yellow light of a lamp filtered through a crack in the curtain on the cell’s door that offers some privacy, and he wondered what book she’d grabbed from the library to read tonight.

But she wasn’t sitting up in bed reading. No. She was curled into a ball under her thin blanket, pulled up all the way to her ears so effectively that he might have missed her at first glance had it not been for her shivering.

The prison walls don’t keep the cold out very well, and it’s not like they can light a bunch of fires inside. Instead, they have to make do with thick clothes and multiple blankets, a few extra candles and staying close to other people.

Only Carol seems to have given away her extra blankets – again. He saw her handing one to Beth last week but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t want her thinking he’s trying to tell her what to do.

But seeing her wrecked by the cold like this – it put an end to his determination to ignore it.

She’d tried to laugh it off that first when he knelt down by the side of her bed and asked her how she could be so damn foolish. But she barely had enough strength left to really make a teasing remark, hissing when he pressed his warm hand against her freezing cheeks. Everything about her was cold when he climbed under the threadbare blanket with her and pulled her against him. Her fingers like sticks of ice when she slipped them under the hem of his shirt to press against his chest.

 

 

This isn’t the first time they are doing this. Last winter, when they were all out there on the road, huddled together for even the slightest bit of warmth, they had gravitated towards each other. Had fallen asleep like this, curled around each other, countless times.

But then spring had come and neither of them had been brave enough to keep it up – no matter how damn good it felt. Almost peaceful.

Or rather: _he_ hadn’t had the balls for it.

It’s been months since they’d been this close but it doesn’t feel like it. They fall into place easily – naturally. Her leg curls over his and his arms wrap around her, hand pressing against the curve of her waist. Her cheek finds the crook of his shoulder, her breath damp against his skin – the only thing about her that’s warm right now.

“Thank you,” she breathes, and he shudders when her cold lips accidentally graze the side of his neck. For a moment, they are quiet, and he can almost feel her greedily sucking the warmth from his body.

“Can stay, if ya wanna,” he suggests, heart pounding and she must be able to feel it. “Y'ain’t gotta freeze every night.” He could just tell her to grab more blankets. Maybe pick some up for her tomorrow. Find her better clothes. But he says none of that and Carol doesn’t miss it.

Her head perks up, chin resting against his chest and there’s a healthy flush to her cheeks now that draws him in. “Are you asking me if you can move in with me?” she asks, raising her brows. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet, don’t you think?”

Shit. He fucked up. “Sorry, didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he backtracks, already trying to scramble away from her but that’s hardly possible when she’s wrapped around him like this. “’s all right if ya don’t-”

Two cold fingers press against his lips, silencing him. “Daryl,” she says – much, much softer this time. “I’d love it if you moved in with me.”

She sounds way too serious for a moment, but then her lips curl into a familiar smile and he snorts, nudging her ribs with his knuckles. “Stop.”

All she does is smile wider, her nose scrunching up and _damn_ , he can’t look away. “I don’t think I will, Pookie.”


	41. camping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: hiking + camping

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but are we there yet?” He snorts at her question, remembering the countless times Sophia had asked it on long car rides. Like that trip to the beach two years ago, where she’d already asked it a dozen times before they even made it past Macon.

“Almost,” he reassures Carol, looking over his shoulder. She’s following him with a frustrated look on her red face, sweat pearling on her brows. Her hands clutch the straps of the heavy backpack she wears, and every step she takes seems to require a great deal of motivation.

The ground is getting steeper and the woods around them thicker. It’s been around half a mile since they left the marked trail, but he knows this makeshift path well enough, created by a handful of people who know about this place and come here on occasion.

“You said it wasn’t far,” Carol continues after a while, huffing behind him. We’ve been walking for almost three hours. “I don’t even have cell service here.”

He has to bite back a smirk. Now more than ever, he’s glad he kept the details of their little trip to himself. All he’d told her was that they’d have to hike for a bit to reach a spot he’d found in the woods as a kid. Sophia is staying with Lori and Rick, and so they have the whole weekend just for themselves for the first time in months. “’s worth it, trust me,” he promises, convinced she’ll love this place as much as he does.

In all the years they’ve known each other, he never really described this place to her in detail and he’s grateful for that now – he wants her to be surprised, for her breath to be taken away the same way it happened to him so long ago.

“That’s hard when you’re being lead deeper and deeper into the woods, Pookie,” Carol chuckles, nudging her elbow into his ribs as she slowly catches up with him.

“Stop.”

Feeling the heavy weight of his own backpack, Daryl adjusts the straps, his own legs starting to feel numb. It’s been a long time since he spent this much time in the woods and it feels freeing, the rich scent of damp moss and tree bark filling his nostrils.

“What if one of us trips and breaks something?” Carol asks then, and he looks at her with raised brows. “What if I get a stomach bug? What if it rains?” She makes it sound like that’s the worst that could happen and he has half the mind to just laugh it off. But she doesn’t usually complain this much – or complain at all - so something must be up.

“Since when are ya that whiny?” he asks, a little annoyed because he wanted them both to enjoy this. That’s why he planned this for weeks down to the smallest detail.

Carol sighs, throwing him an apologetic look. “I have a blister,” she admits, and he wonders for how many hours she dragged herself through the woods like that without saying anything. “And I’m hungry.”

“Told ya to break in them boots.” He knows he said the wrong thing when her eyes turn to steel and she nudges his ribs again. It tickles more than it hurts but he forces himself to look at least a little sorry. He did tell her, though.

“Well, you could have told me we were hiking halfway across the country,” she mutters under her breath, groaning when he leads her past a large boulder, the sound of rushing water filling the air along with the song of the birds above. “I feel like we’ve left the state already. Where are- Oh.” They both stop walking at the same time, and he watches Carol’s face intently – smiling when she reacts just the way he always imagined she would.

Her eyes grow wide as she takes in the small lake that’s nestled against a hill, a wall of solid stone keeping it in, the waterfall that cascaded down from it making the most melodic of sounds. A small clearing lays on the left side, covered in wildflowers, and the thick forest to the other side. Carol’s lips part on a stunned gasp. Whatever frustration she felt before seems to have been washed away.

“Told ya,” he whispers, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple.

She huffs, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together. “Shut up.”


	42. not a single moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: realize they’ve fallen for each other
> 
> _set sometime post series_

There isn’t one fixed moment that he realized he was in love with her. The concept of love itself is foreign to him, something that took him a long time to come to terms with.

Years passed without him recognizing those feelings for what they were. Looking back on those times, he realizes how foolish he’d been not to admit it to himself sooner.

How drawn he was to her even all the way back at the quarry when they were complete strangers.

How determined he’d been to find Sophia - not just for the little girl’s sake because she reminded him so much of himself, but also to wipe the grief off her mother’s face.

How he’d never felt comfortable straying too far from her during that winter on the road, keeping her close, teaching her how to defend herself.

How she’d made him realize that a building made of concrete and iron bars could be a home.

How she’d slowly become _his_ home.

How lost he’d felt when that home was taken from him - her and the prison, both on the same dreadful day.

How he’d never felt more relief than when she came back into his life, into his arms.

How he found the greatest comfort in knowing she was safe and the greatest sorrow in watching her crumble and fade away when there was nothing he could do.

How she’d been the light in the darkness of his cell. The ray of hope that kept him going when he wanted to curl up and succumb to his guilt and pain.

How he’d have left everything behind to be with her. To give her what she needs.

Over time, all that amounted to what he now knows without a doubt is love. And when she curls into his side under soft sheets and presses a kiss to his shoulder, he tells her.

How much he loves her. How much she means to him. How important she is.

Words have never been his strength but he tries now to make them count. Trails his fingers along the dips of her spine and rests his chin on the crown of her head.

“I love you, too,” she breathes sleepily, the words warm and damp against the side of his neck. Even though words were never needed, he cherishes hearing them, locks them away.

He doesn’t know how long they have, but he’ll treasure every minute that’s left until he takes his last breath.

It’s a selfish thought, but all the horrors that have claimed this world were worth it - welcome even - because they brought her into his life.

He’ll never trade a single moment. Not a single one.


	43. caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: get caught making out despite “not being together”

He’s eager, so eager that it makes her smile into the kiss. His torso is pressing her gently into the soft couch, a gentle pressure that she cherishes.

Her hands are curled loosely around his neck as his tongue traces the seam of her lips, shyly asking for permission. She grants him access instantly and with a delicate hum, sifting her fingers through the silky strands of his hair.

The way he whimpers into the deepening kiss is exhilarating, and it makes her feel bold, desired. She arches her back, pushing herself further against him. It’s still not close enough and she aches to feel more him. His warm, calloused skin against her own.

But this is all still so new, so fragile, and she’ll keep the pace slow until they’re both ready. Right now, though, she can feel her resolve crumbling.

His hand on her hip inches a little higher, curling around her waist until the tips of his fingers graze her ribs.

“Well, hello.” Glenn’s voice suddenly tears through the quiet afternoon and Daryl jolts away from her with a gasp, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife strapped to his belt.

Pressing her hands into the couch, Carol pushes herself up into a sitting position, her gaze flickering between Daryl and a very smug-looking Glenn. “Jesus, what'ya sneakin’ ‘round for?” Daryl growls, letting go of the knife.

Glenn grins a little, leaning against the doorway. “I wasn’t sneaking, you were… distracted.” The grin on his face seems to infuriate Daryl even more and Carol feels a slight flush of embarrassment tinting her own cheeks - they should have known that getting carried away here would only lead to this.

“You’re a stinky liar,” Glenn points out, wiggling his finger at Daryl who is still sitting on the edge of the couch. Carol’s brows crease in confusion - Glenn doesn’t miss it. “Yesterday, he told me there’s nothing going on between you two.”

Daryl suddenly seems more embarrassed by Glenn’s words than he is about getting caught, flushing a deep shade of red under the stubble of his beard and staring down at his boots. “Wasn’t none o’ ya business,” he mutters, fidgeting with one of the many loose seams on his pants.

“Well, I approve,” Glenn declares with a bright grin. Carol scrambles for something to say to end the awkward tension that Glenn seems to be oblivious about, but she comes up empty.

“Don’t go tellin’ nobody,” Daryl warns him, but then he shyly turns to face her. “Unless ya want…”

He looks so terrified to ask that it makes her heart skip a beat. “It’s okay,” she reassures him, reaching out a brave hand to rest on his. “I don’t mind.” She has a feeling that everybody knows anyway, no matter how many times they deny it. And Glenn can’t keep a secret if he tried They’re not left with much of a choice.

“Gonna let you get back to… that,” Glenn mutters, still grinning when they turn to look at him.

“Shut up,” Daryl grumbles and Carol only smiles a little at that. When Glenn slips back outside with a wave she reaches out to rest her second hand on his, allowing their fingers to entwine.

“Do you mind if people know?” she asks, worried that maybe he’s not ready to make this new development between them official. It’s brand new even though it was years in the making, and he’s so shy and insecure so often that she can’t be sure he’s ready to share it.

His answer surprises her. “Didn’t wanna assume nothin’,” he confesses, head cast downwards, his eyes hidden under the mess of his hair.

It hurts to consider that he didn’t trust their happiness, that he still doubted that she wants to be with him. She offers him a sad smile that he can’t see, squeezing his hands gently. “We can tell people,” she whispers, and when she leans in to kiss him, it’s his turn to smile against her lips.


	44. blanket fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: build a blanket fort

”And they lived happily ever after,“ Daryl finishes, closing the heavy book in his lap. Glancing at Sophia, he’s not surprised to see her deep asleep. She’s clutching her favorite doll to her chest, lips slightly parted, her blonde hair tickling her nose.

“How long’s she been asleep?“ he asks quietly, tucking a strand of his daughter’s hair behind her ear. She doesn’t stir.

“A while,“ Carol replies, wrapping her arm around his stomach and pressing her face into the crook of his neck. Her breath is warm and her voice sleepy. Silver hair tickles his chin.

”Could’ve told me, ya know,“ he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and wrapping his arm around her shoulder to pull her a little closer. It’s not all too comfortable down here under the dining table – blankets covering the sides to make a fort. Sophia had dragged every blanket and cushion she could find down here earlier, but still he can feel his legs going numb. It doesn’t really matter, though.

”I enjoyed the story,“ Carol replies, and he can hear the smile in her voice. Softly, her hand traces up his chest, lingering on his heart where it beats steadily. “Should we really let her sleep down here?“

He shrugs, setting the book aside. Sophia had begged and pleaded to spend the night down here, but neither him not Carol had been all too sure it was a good idea. For all they know, saying yes once means they’ll never get their dining table back.

Having a picnic for dinner down here was nice enough, and so was reading a bedtime story with all of them cuddled together. But the reality of it is less comfortable than it might seem at first glance.

“My ass is goin’ numb,“ Daryl complains, and Carol chuckles lightly at that.

“Poor you,“ she offers without much sincerity, trailing her hand up to cup his cheek. “You’re getting old.“

He snorts at that, rolling his eyes when she drags her fingers through the stubble of his beard where a few first gray hairs are beginning to grow. “Stop, y'ain’t any better.“

Playfully, she slaps his shoulder, so gently that he can barely feel it. With a grin, he catches her wrist and tugs her a little closer. Carol tilts her head up, that breathtaking smile curling her lips and crinkling her nose in the dim light.

“Love ya,“ he whispers, pressing his lips to her forehead, letting the words melt into her.


	45. we ain't dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: protect each other

Daryl is silent as he climbs off the bike. He’s been silent for hours, the entire ride back to the prison. Carol’s heart feels heavy as her feet his the concrete ground, her legs a little unsteady after spending so much time with the engine rumbling beneath her.

With a sigh, she pulls the heavy bag of medical supplies from her back and drops it to the ground – the very reason they left the prison in the first place. It was meant to be a quick, safe supply run. She’d been surprised when Daryl asked her to come along this morning. Thrilled to be given a chance to set foot outside the walls and fences of the prison.

But things hadn’t gone as planned.

“Daryl,“ she calls after him as he marches off towards the cell block, his shoulders tense and his steps brisk. “Wait!“

She hurries after him despite the sharp pain in her ribcage and the dull throb in her knees, runs until she’s right behind him. “Talk to me,“ she begs, breathless. Usually, she grants him the silence he so often seeks. Knows that he struggles with words when they truly matter to him. But she can’t let him go now.

He stops walking but doesn’t turn. Takes a deep breath that ripples down his spine.

“Please.“

When he turns, it’s so swift that it startles Carol and she takes an instinctual step back. His hands are balled into white-knuckled fists, his eyes dark, forehead creased. Faint memories of a dark night on the outskirts of a farm haunt her, his voice hollering through the night, grief still so very palpable.

“What'ya do that for?“ he yells, his voice breaking as he takes a step towards her. She doesn’t back up this time, but she swallows a lump in her throat that makes it hard to breathe.

“He was going to shoot you,“ she replies, still feeling the same bone-chilling fear as when that man had pulled his gun on Daryl. Her reaction had been instant, and instinct more than anything else.

Daryl grinds his teeth, his jaw tense. “And ya thought jumpin’ in front o’ me was a good idea? He could’ve killed ya!“ She tries to stay calm even as tears burn in her eyes. Hopes that nobody is close enough to witness this.

“That’s why I did it,” she whispers, her body soft compared to his and he laughs at her words, empty and scary.

“Ya crazy, woman? We’re short on medical supplies. Hours away from this place. He’d have shot ya and you’d have died. Right there!“ he shouts, but then he seems to crumble. Taking a step back and lowering his head, he shudders. “You’d have died right there.“ His voice breaks.

She allows him a moment before taking a step closer and resting a hand on his forearm. He flinches for a second but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he looks up at her through the strands of his hair that are beginning to grow into his face. He looks so miserable.

“I’m not dead,“ she breathes, taking another step forward into his space. “You’d have died, too.“

He sighs, looks down in shame.

“I can’t lose you,“ she confesses, repeating the words she said to him so long ago. He’d shouted at her then, had called her a bitch, unleashed his anger on her. Now, he shakes his head, looks up at her with tears in his eyes. “I can’t lose you, Daryl,“ she repeats, knowing he won’t believe her. Won’t be able to accept how much he means to her.

Slowly, giving him enough time to back away, she lifts her hand to cup his cheek.

“I can’t-,“ he chokes, reaching up to curl his calloused fingers around her wrist. Holding her hand in place. “Can’t lose ya.“

She know show much it must have cost him to say this. How terrified he must have been when she threw herself in front of him, the bullet just barely crazing her ribs as she dragged him to the ground, landing roughly on her knees. Her own blood is still warm against her shirt, and his eyes flicker down to it, back up to a scrape on her cheek and there he lets his fingers hover for a second.

“We ain’t dead,“ he murmurs, reassuring himself, and she nods.

“We’re not dead.“


	46. marriage of convenience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: arranged marriage / marriage of convenience
> 
> This is set in the early 1900s. I hope the plot makes at least a little sense since this is so short. 
> 
> Here’s the quick version: Carol and Daryl have known each other since childhood, he inherited a farm from Dale, she worked at Ed’s family’s farm and they had an affair - when she gets pregnant he throws her out. Carol asks Daryl for help (by marrying her to cover up her pregnancy and giving her a place to stay), and he agrees.

Carol’s palms feel clammy, the lace of her wedding dress itching against her throat. She can barely breathe in it. It’s too tight - even though she has not yet put on much weight, the buttons and hooks of her grandmama’s dress had been a challenge.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looks around the small and sparsely furnished living area of the house. She’s been in here before, but always as a guest. Now, it’s her _home_. Her duty is to keep it tended to now.

“Why’d'ya look so scared?” Daryl’s voice startles her and she turns with a gasp she can barely hide. He looks so handsome in his suit, no matter how worn it obviously is, mended in many places. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he promises, shrugging his coat off and placing it over the back of a chair.

A smile curls her lips, and still she feels uneasy, her heart stuttering in her chest. “I know that,” she says softly, turning away from him again. Slowly, she trails her hand over the mantelpiece of the fireplace, weathered wood and dusty bricks rough beneath her touch.

She can hear Daryl’s heavy footsteps behind her, the floorboards creaking. “This is ya home now,” he mutters, and the idea of that still feels so foreign to her. “Don’t want ya to be scared all the time.”

She wants to tell him so desperately that it’s not him she’s afraid of. That she trusts him. That she’s beyond grateful that he agreed to this marriage - that he saved her from scrutiny and poverty.

Instead of saying all this, she gathers what little courage she as left and steps into his space. Her hands press into his solid chest, the flicker of the oil lamp shimmering in the ring he gave her earlier.

She can show him her gratitude instead. This is their wedding night after all. Even if the reasons for their marriage are far from honorable and even further from love - but how many people get the luxury of marrying out of love, anyway?

Slowly, she leans in closer, cups his warm cheek in her hand. Is ready to press her lips to his and let him take what’s his right. But instead, calloused fingers curl around her wrist.

“We ain’t gotta do nothin’ ya don’t wanna do,” he rasps, his breath warm against her skin and a shiver runs down her spine that feels unfamiliar and confusing.

Her brows crease and she lets go of him. “But I’m your wife- It’s your right…” she trails off, feeling rejected and confused. “Do you not want me?” she asks, her hand hovering over her stomach - over the child that isn’t his but that he willingly accepted as a condition for this marriage.

Of course he wouldn’t desire her like this. Or maybe Ed was right all along when he told her how plain she was and how nobody but him would ever want to be with her. And then he hadn’t wanted to be with her, after all - after she told him she was carrying his child.

Instead of a proposal, she’d gotten a palm to the cheek and had been thrown out, dismissed and cast out into the rain.

Feeling insecure she looks down at her feet, the hem of her cream colored dress kissing he wooden floor. She shudders a little when Daryl gently touches his fingers to her chin and lifts her head. “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with that,” he reassures her, and the half-smile he gives her is too precious to resist. “We ain’t gotta rush this. No more than we already did.”

She doesn’t deserve him. Doesn’t deserve any kindness in return for her own youthful foolishness but here she is with a roof over her head and a kind man taking her hands in his. “Thank you, Daryl,” she breathes through the tears that dwell in her eyes. “Thank you so much.” He has done so much for her in the last month, so much more than simply agreeing to marry her to cover up the mistakes she’s made. “I can’t- this is more than…”

“Carol,” he interrupts her, his throat bopping as he swallows deftly. There’s a nervousness to him that she knows all too well - fond memories of childhood days on her father’s farm blur in her mind, a little boy ducking his head whenever she smiled at him. Never would she have thought to call that boy her husband one day. “’s all right.”

The shutters rattle in the wind, and suddenly Carol is all too aware of the slight April chill. Gooseflesh erupts on her skin, not going unnoticed as Daryl’s gaze briefly flickers down to where her arms are left exposed - the silk gloves she wore earlier folded neatly on the dresser by the door.

“I made up a room for ya, down the hall,” he explains, pointing down the dimly lit hallway. “’s next ta mine.” A blush tints his cheeks in the sweetest shade of pink, and Carol can’t help but smile a little even through her own nervousness. “’s got a nice view of the woods,” he continues, ducking his head before continuing. “Thought it would make a pretty nursery.”

Her heart clenches to the point of pain and she can’t help the tear that spills over and trails down her cheek before soaking into the lace of her dress. He is so considerate, so unbearably kind that it’s not an easy thing to accept.

“Do you really think you can accept this baby?” she asks, picturing her child in his arms, maybe outside on the porch overlooking the rich green forests and the fields. He looks up at her with an uncertain expression. When he nods, she knows it’s not quite this simple, but she’ll take this sign of hope.

Another thought weighs heavy on her mind, something she hasn’t dared to address yet. “Will you want children of your own?” she asks with a small, fragile voice. To everyone else, the child she’ll birth in a few months will be his. But it’s not, and now that she’s his wife she’ll accept her duties.

He shrugs, letting go of her hands to bury his own in the pockets of his trousers. “Never thought about it.” There’s a sadness to his voice that spikes her curiosity but she doesn’t press the matter. For now, it’s nothing to be concerned with. “Ain’t gotta think about it now.” She nods in agreement, releasing a shuddering exhale and wiping the tear trails off her cheek. “Rest,” he murmurs, nodding towards the end of the hall. “’s been a long day. Ya look a little pale.”

For a moment, he reaches out almost as if to trail his fingers over her cheekbone but then he drops his hand again, taking a step back.

“Good night,” Carol whispers, leaning in just enough to press a light kiss to his cheek. He smells of pine and tobacco and she allows her eyes to close for a moment before pulling away.

The floorboards creak under her slow steps and when she closes the door to her new bedroom behind her, she allows her tears to fall freely.


	47. he loves you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: at the kingdom, morgan (or rick) pointing out to carol that she's in love with daryl

She’s watching him from across a distance. His arms crossed, talking to Ezekiel and members of his guard.

He’s welcome here. Valued. Respected. Even though he might no realize it. He could have a place here.

“They’re attacking tomorrow,” Morgan tells her somberly as he sits down next to her on the hard bench, but Carol doesn’t avert her eyes from Daryl’s back. From her periphery, she sees Morgan propping up his stick against the wall - sharp-etched and stained in blood.

“Good,” she replies. She agrees with the plan, but it still rests heavily on her heart and soul. Almost subconsciously, she curls her hands into fists against her thighs.

“Daryl asked if you’re coming with us.” Morgan keeps his voice down even though there’s no possible way for anyone to overhear them.

“Why didn’t he just ask me?” They’ve only met briefly earlier when he arrived with Rick and Jesus, had barely enough time to say more than hello before he was whisked away. She kept out of the negotiations today. Feeling too heavy. It’s all too close.

Morgan sighs, leaning back against the wall. “I think he needed to know before he talked to you,” he explains. There’s a long pause, but she can sense there is more he has to say. “He’s worried about you.”

It’s a ridiculous thing to say - they are all worried about one another. There’s more than enough reason, after all. She’s about to tell him that when he speaks again, his words slicing through her heart like a knife.

“He loves you.”

A lump forms in her throat instantly and she can’t bear to look at Daryl a second longer. Tearing her eyes away, she stares at the cracked concrete ground instead.

“But I think you already know that,” Morgan says softly, quietly.

Of course she knows. Has known for so long and has felt the same for much longer than that. Right now, though, it fills her with an icy cold instead of the usual warmth.

She doesn’t say a word. Couldn’t - even if she wanted to. There’s nothing to say. Not to Morgan, for sure. This is none of his business. But not to Daryl, either. Even though they both live on borrowed time. She can’t tell him, and she knows he can’t, either. Not while he still thinks she’s fragile and frail and haunted.

And while she’ll fight this war and believes they’re doing the only thing they can, she can’t deny that he’s right.

“Just…,” Morgan continues, drifting off into silence for a while. “Let him?”

He stands without waiting for a reply, lingering by her side for a few seconds before walking away. His words, however, linger.

_He loves you. He loves you. He loves you._

If only that was enough.

_Let him. Let him. Let him._

If only she could…


	48. titanic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this to go along with [this](http://singingfirefliess.tumblr.com/post/162244419664/his-fingers-tremble-against-her-pale-cheek-its) edit that I made.

His fingers tremble against her pale cheek. _It’s not up to you to save me, Daryl._ Her voice breaks. Delicate. Fragile.

_You’re right,_ he sighs. Leaning in closer. She smells like lavender. Warm. _Only you can do that._

When she walks away, he feels so cold.

 

 

The ocean glimmers in rose and orange as the horizon swallows the sun. Her hair flutters in the breeze. Fingers entwined with his. Soft as a flower petal. _I didn’t think I could be strong._ Her lips find the corner of his mouth. Feathering the lightest kiss there. _You showed me that I already was._

 

 

Heart pounding against his ribcage. Bruising. Pulse thrumming in his ears. Her fingers pressed to his lips. _When this ship docks, I’m getting off with you._ A smile curling her lips that puts a sparkle in her blue eyes.

A nod. His hand finding hers. _We get to start over. Together,_ he promises. Sealing it with a kiss. Feeling warm despite the harsh, cold wind.


	49. smoking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: either Daryl or Carol suggests they try to quit smoking together
> 
> _set after the war with negan_

A light chill creeps under his clothes, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. From his periphery, he watches her. Sitting on the porch step beside him, the sunset painting her silver hair golden.

 

It's quiet out here, nothing to be heard except for the rustling of the leafs and the occasional cry of a bird. It's peaceful and serene and even if he wasn't aware of the real reasons he'd understand why she would retreat to this place. Why she'd chose this solitary over the home they used to share.

 

He visits her whenever his time allows - and that happens more and more these days. He doesn't necessarily _have_ more time, but he makes it. Volunteers less for supply runs than he did before, hands over other duties.

 

Carol never asks when he shows up on her doorstep. Just allows him inside - giving him peace.

 

He wishes he could stay. To tend to the garden with her and cook over the fire, to hunt and read on the porch and fall asleep by her side. To forget all about the terrors of this world.

 

After all this time, even he is starting to grow tired of it all.

 

But he isn't brave enough to ask.

 

His eyes fix on her lips where she balances her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke that dances in the dim light of dusk. It's been months since he stayed this long. And with every minute that passes, he's becoming more and more reluctant to leave.

 

“Ain't healthy, ya know?” he murmurs into the night, pointing at the cigarette when Carol eyes him with confusion. Her eyebrows raise at his words and she looks down at the cigarette in his own hand.

 

“You're one to talk,” she says, softly shaking her head and looking away from him. There's still an emptiness in her eyes that fills him with dread.

 

“Wish you'd stop.” He can't quite stop the words or the broken timbre of his voice. She noticed, it's plain to see in the way she tenses.

 

For a minute, they're quiet, filling the air with smoke and waiting... Waiting for nothing and everything.

 

“I wish you'd stop, too.” Carol's whispers catches him off guard, and he finds himself looking at her curiously. She doesn't meet his gaze, instead looks down at their dusty boots - mere inches apart. “Always worried about it. You smoke so much.” She sighs, pressing the stud of her cigarette against the porch step until only ashes remain. “What if you get cancer?”

 

He's quiet for a long moment after that, just staring up at the darkening sky. Ain't like he never thought about it. He's not stupid, knows that the chances of his lungs giving up on him one day are pretty damn high. If he lives that long anyway.

 

It would have been a death sentence back then, and it sure as hell would be one now.

 

He never cared about it before. Always figured everybody's gotta die eventually so what's it matter how you go?

 

Only difference is that _before_ , he never had a goddamned thing to live for. Not a thing. Then the world went to shit and they all should be dead by now but they're not. They're alive and for the first time in his sorry life, he has a reason to actually live.

 

“How 'bout we both quit?” he suggests, the words leaving his mouth before he can even wrap his mind around the idea. All he knows that he can't stand her hurting and punishing herself like this - and he knows that's why she's doing it. He always used the shitty taste and feeling of smoke in his lungs as a distraction, something to numb his pain and the dullness of his life until it eventually became a habit. She's not doing it for the same reasons.

 

Carol turns to him with a small smile curling her lips. “Are you going to hypnotize me?” she asks with a mischief in her voice that he hasn't heard from her in too long.

 

“Stop,” he mutters out of habit, not missing how that simple word puts a sparkle in her eyes. To proof his point, he flicks what remains of his cigarette to the ground, grinding it to ashes with the toe of his boots.

 

“No more?” he asks, looking at Carol expectantly, his heart skipping a beat or two.

 

She's quiet for a moment, contemplating his offer. Then, her expression softens. “No more,” she agrees, lifting a weight off his heart.

 

They let the moment pass between them until the sun has gone down and the sky begins to darken more and more. “Should head back,” he mutters, turning to look at her.

 

She meets his gaze head on. Seems to ponder something.

 

He silently hopes she'll ask him to stay. Won't suggest it himself. But he craves it more than anything. It'll give him peace of mind knowing she's asleep in the other room. Hell, he might finally find some rest himself.

 

Back in his too-big bed in Alexandria, he tosses and turns night after night. Kept awake by the nightmares that haunt him and the constant worry about Carol alike.

 

She can take care of herself, can defend herself. He knows that, trust her with her own life. But he can't help but stare into the darkness every night, worrying if she's all right, if it's warm enough, if she has enough food, water, medical supplies. If she's sick or hurt or-

 

He stands up reluctantly when Carol sighs, remaining silent. She's not ready and maybe, deep down, he's a fool to believe that _he_ is.


	50. panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I may have mildly panicked…"
> 
> this is a follow up to chapter 29 _**late night pie**_

“What-,” Carol stutters as Daryl empties two plastic bags onto the counter. He’s still wearing his sweatpants and a t-shirt that had already been old and worn when they first met years ago, and combined with the hunting boots he quickly put on earlier, he looks a little ridiculous.

Especially because he’s flushed like he just ran all the way to the gas station instead of driving.

“What’s all this?” she asks when she’s gathered herself, eyes skimming over what he bought. Almost a dozen chocolate bars, five packs of cigarettes although he stopped smoking last year, three magazines on pregnancy and motherhood and the pregnancy test she sent him out to get. But not just one.

No. She counts _ten_.

(of course he forgot the sugar, though. she should have known.)

“I-,” he starts, worrying his thumbnail with his teeth nervously. “May have mildly panicked.”

Despite the panic that’s been flaring inside herself ever since she realized that she hasn’t had her period in over two months, Carol is surprised to find herself biting back a smile.

This isn’t the end of the world, she keeps telling herself. It’s just unexpected. They talked about having children before, and she knows without a doubt that Daryl would be – _will be_ – and amazing father. There’s nothing to worry about here.

(other than the fact that they’re out of sugar now.)

“Thank you,” she says quietly, reaching for his hand and leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. He sucks in a sharp breath, his free hand coming to her hip.

“Love ya, all right?” he murmurs almost reassuringly, pressing his forehead to hers. His thumb drawing light circles against her lower belly.

She can feel his heart pounding against her own chest. “I love you, too.”

 

 

When she comes back from the bathroom with five tests clutched in her palm, he’s sitting in one of the chairs, chewing on what looks like his fourth chocolate bar.

“And?” he asks, scrambling to his feet.

Carol chuckles softly. “We have to wait now.”


	51. how to get away with murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "don't judge me but I may have murdered someone"

The first time he meets her, she nearly knocks him off his feet. Literally. Crashes into him in the parking lot of the mall and he nearly falls backwards into a flower bed.

Would be just his luck.

He sways a little back and forth, ready to tell her to watch her fucking step but the words die on his tongue.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she gasps, her eyes widened in shock. They’re blue as the damn sky above them, and he can’t seem to look away. She’s goddamn beautiful. Pale skin and a million freckles dusted around her nose and cheeks, short, silver hair curling around her face. She’s tall and slender, the hem of her blue dress fluttering in the breeze – but most of her is hidden behind the huge, heavy-looking box she’s carrying.

“Are you okay?” she asks, sounding genuinely worried despite the fact that he’s still firmly on his feet.

“’m fine,” he reassures her, blushing a ridiculous shade of red and quickly looking down to hide it. She’s wearing yellow sandals, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Ya need eh… Ya need some help with that?” He points at the box, the glossy image of what looks like some type of kitchen machine reflecting the sunlight.

“Oh.” She looks surprised, eyes flickering down between him and the box. “You don’t have to, it’s all right. My car’s just over there,” she explains and he figures he should have known better. She probably thinks he’s some sick fucker trying to kidnap her. He looks like one, he’s pretty sure. With the torn off sleeves and the leather vest that’s seen better days, boots caked in mud.

There’s a moment of awkward silence and he’s ready to just push past her and make his way to the damn mall when she speaks again.

“Or maybe you could help. It _is_ really heavy.” She laughs slightly, clearly not so sure about her own decision. Curiosity marks her pretty face and he feels his eyes widen a little.

“Eh- sure, yeah.” She offers him a kind smile that burns as bright as the damn sun – all white teeth and pink, soft-looking lips. _Jesus_. When was the last time he looked at a woman like this?

He can’t remember.

Maybe has never has.

He takes the box from her, groaning under the weight of it. “Jesus, what'ya got in there?” he asks, hoisting it up to get a better grip.

The woman leads the way, her sandals clicking against the pavement, hair shimmering like tiny jewels in the sunlight. “A Kitchen Aid,” she explains, pointing at the bold letters on the box. He ain’t got a clue what the fuck that is, though. “They were on sale,” she continues, pulling her car keys from her purse.

They come to a halt next to an old Jeep Cherokee which has definitely seen better days. He eyes it with concern – the thought of her driving this when nobody probably has properly looked after it in years making him feel a little sick. Not to mention the car seat he can see through the back window that clearly belongs to a kid.

“Don’t judge me but I may have murdered someone for it,” she laughs, opening the trunk.

Daryl snorts at the idea, shoving the box into the trunk next to a few bags of groceries and a pink helmet. “Ain’t gonna tell nobody, promise.”

She laughs – all bright and honest like he actually said something funny. When she slams the trunk shut, Daryl stands awkwardly a few feet away, hands buried in his pocket. He should get going now. He’s got shit to do after all, and she didn’t ask him for help to make awkward conversation.

But she surprises him then.

“Thank you,” she says softly. All he manages to do in response is shrug his shoulders, dismissing what he did. Wasn’t a hassle, after all. “So…,” she begins, looking away for a moment in the direction of the mall. Worrying her bottom lip ever so slightly between her teeth, clearly thinking hard about something. “Do you want to grab a coffee? There’s a great place inside, they just opened a few weeks ago.”

He’s staring at her like she just grew a second head and he knows it, but he can’t really help himself.

Clearly taking his silence as a no, she waves her hand, the keys she’s still holding dangling in the air. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I was just think-”

“I wanna,” he blurts like an idiot, pressing his hand to his forehead in embarrassment.

Her eyes light up then like fireworks on the 4th of July. Locking her car, she starts back towards the mall and he follows her, watching her dress flutter in the wind.

“I’m Carol, by the way,” she says, looking up at him.

His throat feels dry but his palms are clammy, a strange mixture – especially combined with the thundering of his heart.

“’m Daryl.”

For some reason, she finds that funny enough to giggle. He throws her a questioning look, brows raised.

She grins.

“That rhymes.”


	52. the camera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Stop filming me, moron!"

She curses the day he found that damn camera. On a run somewhere days away from the prison, looking for food and medical supplies.

 

He came back with a battered digital camera and a few batteries. Most of them, he put on the pile in the supply room, but a few of them he tucked away. And she's the one suffering from it now.

 

She doesn't get why he keeps taking pictures of her at all. They can't print them and one day soon, the batteries will take their dying breath and he won't even be able to look at them anymore.

 

It doesn't stop him, though. He's good at it, too. Snapping pictures when she doesn't even notice. When she brushes her hair in the morning, sunlight filtering through the bars of the cell door, casting shadowed patterns on her back. Standing at the railing in the guard tower, her silhouette dark against the full moon. Pictures of her laughing, nose scrunched up, cheeks flushed.

 

They're good pictures, too. He's got a talent for it that's wasted in the world they live in. Looking at them, it's like she can see herself through his eyes for a brief moment. It's more intimate and private than Daryl wants to admit.

 

Now, though, she's pretty sure he's starting to lose his mind.

 

She wakes up to something tickling her bare skin, skimming along her ribcage. A breeze of cool air feathers over her, making her shiver.

 

Groaning, she burrows further into the pillow, but the tickling won't stop. Cracking open her eyes, she's looking down straight at Daryl, slowly peeling away the sheet that had been covering her.

 

“What are you doing?” she asks, voice thick and hazy with sleep.

 

Daryl presses a soft kiss to her belly, his hand gliding up her thigh. “Mornin',” he drawls, the vibrations of his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

 

She knows where this is going, her skin already flushing in anticipation. With her limbs still heavy as lead, she turns onto her back and allows her legs to fall open a little – enough for the sheet to fall away entirely. Daryl groans in response, the sound muffled against her hipbone.

 

Smiling, she reaches down to rake her fingers through his soft hair, dragging her nails along his scalp. His lips suck at the pale skin of her abdomen in response, and she tilts her hips up by instinct. “Daryl,” she breathes, trying to push his head down further. Craving his touch even though it's only been a few hours since she fell asleep in his arms, sated and exhausted.

 

She can feel his lips curling into a smirk against her skin, and she huffs in frustration when he pulls away to reach for the bedside table.

 

“What are you doing?” she asks again, lifting onto her elbows as she watches him turn on the camera, the light from the display illuminating his face. He holds it away from her face, curiously enough focusing on her hand, fingers curled loosely into the sheets.

 

The little red light starts to glow, telling her he's filming her.

 

“We're not making a sex tape,” she declares with a chuckle, wiggling her fingers at the lens. “I don't want anyone finding this thing in a hundred years and see me naked.”

 

Daryl laughs softly at that, but he doesn't put the camera away. Instead, he follows the length of her arm with it, leaving a trail of kisses behind like breadcrumbs – following the camera with his lips. It feels too good to tell him to stop, and she falls back into the warm pillow, humming when he sucks ever so softly at the delicate skin stretched over her collarbones.

 

“You better make sure nobody ever sees this,” she whispers. But there's no real concern behind her words. She knows he'd delete this the moment she asked him to, and he guards the camera like a hawk as it is.

 

Her lips curl into a smile when he cups a breast in his hand, turning the camera so it can capture the way his thumb flicks over the hardened peak. Carol bites back a moan, fingers clutching the sheets a little harder than before.

 

“Promise,” he rasps, lips brushing against her quivering stomach as he moves further and further down, taking the camera with him. The angle must be awful, she thinks briefly, but she second his fingers ghost up the inside of her thigh all thoughts evaporate.

 

He presses his lips against her lower abdomen, edges his fingers closer and closer to where she needs him the most, but never actually touches her there. Instead, he follows the length of her legs with the camera, focusing on her knees for a long while, nudging his nose against the knee cap. Tickles her with his light touch as he moves down to her ankle and back up again.

 

More and more light begins to filter through the curtain that offers them a little privacy, and Carol starts to feel impatient – knowing people will start waking up soon and beginning their daily chores.

 

“Daryl, please,” she begs, trailing her hand down her stomach to rest her palm against his cheek. He leans into the touch, but turns to camera to capture the moment his lips press softly against her palm.

 

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Stop filming me, moron.” He grins up at her, flushed and shy and confident at the same time, all mingled in the most fascinating way that she'll never grow tired of. “Kiss me,” she whispers then, and he follows without hesitation.

 

He doesn't seem to pay too much attention to what the camera captures when he moves up her body and rests his hips in the cradle of her thighs. But when his lips slant against hers, Carol couldn't care less if he ended up getting an unflattering side wide of her breasts or focused too much on the stretch marks on her hips.

 

Eagerly, she traces the seam of his lips with her tongue, and she hears the soft thud of the camera hitting the bed the moment he opens up for her. Making new memories that don't need to be captured.


	53. the button

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Are you even listening to me?"

She’s talking. He can hear that. Something about medical supplies. Something important. But he can’t be sure.

He stopped listening around a minute ago when he saw that the top button of her white blouse had come undone. Only, it’s not actually the top button. She’d been lazy with them before, leaving the top three unbuttoned as it was.

That had been the first thing he noticed when he walked into the kitchen, but he forced himself not to stare at the pale, freckled skin of her chest that was exposed.

Didn’t want to be no creep.

Now, though… He tried not to look. But the white cotton has peeled open enough to reveal a slier of pale blue lace underneath that holds the swell of her breasts. Delicate against her ivory skin.

He’s staring like an absolute fool, his palms clammy where he presses them against the coarse fabric of his pants.

“Are you even listening to me?” Carol asks then, the question pulling him out of his trance. Quickly, he tears his eyes away from her breasts and looks up at her instead - but he’s not quick enough.

She noticed.

Her eyes meet his for a second, her annoyance melting into confusion. But then she looks down, follows the trail of his eyes - her own widening ever so slightly when she sees the button.

Daryl swallows, waiting for her to either tell him what a creep he is or shy away. But she does neither.

Surprises him instead.

She’s always been good at that.

Quickly, she reaches up to close the button, but her fingers linger against the white cotton. Freezing. Her eyes meeting his again. A fire burning in them that he hasn’t seen since they left the prison.

Back when she would have teased him about this until his ears burned red.

When she slowly lowers her hands back to the counter, Daryl can’t quite believe it. Is pretty sure his eyes bulge out of his skull.

This time when his eyes flicker down and quickly back up again, he’s met with Carol’s lips curled into a knowing, mischievous smirk that sets his blood on fire.


	54. making a move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: set after the imaginary family dinner, Glenn and Tara convince Daryl to make a move

He can't remember the last time he felt this settled. Peaceful, almost. Probably at the prison, but that was so long ago he can hardly remember. A month in this new world feels like a decade in the old. But this moment right here, right now – he'd freeze that if he could.

 

Sitting on the steps to the front porch, a glass of lemonade in his hand, the sun warm but not sweltering, his belly full of good food. Some of the others are still sitting at the large table, nibbling on leftovers and talking about this and that. Others have scattered, standing in little groups on the rich lawn or the pristine streets.

 

It's the kind of Sunday family dinner that he always longed for as a child.

 

Only took the end of the goddamned world for him to find it.

 

He's been watching Carol for the past five minutes, sitting cross-legged on the lawn and reading a storybook to Judith and little Hershel, both of them pressed into her sides with droopy eyes.

 

She looks beautiful today. Always does, but especially today. The long, blue dress fluttering around her legs, face glowing. She looks happy, and that's a sight he'll never grow tired of. She'd been in a good mood all day. Laughing and smiling. It's like finally, she's learning to feel at home here. Just like him.

 

“Watch out, your eyes are about to fall out,” Tara quips as she pops into his field of vision, Glenn hot on her heels. Both of them are wearing shit-eating grins, looking down at him with a mischievous glint in their eyes.

 

“What'ya goin' on about?” he asks, slightly annoyed and feeling like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

 

“Don't pretend like you don't know,” Tara teases, nudging the tip of her sneakers against his boot. Grumbling, he pulls his feet up a step, gulping down more lemonade just to have something to do. If only it was an ice cold bottle of beer.

 

There's an awkward silence for a moment, and Daryl wishes he could just bolt and run off to his room. He ain't a moody teenager, though, so he's gonna stay put and wait for them to stop pestering him. Cause he knows _exactly_ what they're here for. Tara had been going on and on about Carol earlier, making comments that turned his ear red – comments that somehow all included his own opinion. On the dress. On the shoes. On the flush on Carol's cheeks.

 

He's had enough of them messing with his business.

 

Tara sighs then, clearly frustrated with his lack of cooperation. Clapping Glenn on the back, she admits defeat. “You try and talk some sense into him.”

 

With that, she's gone, heading back towards the table. Daryl looks up at Glenn, looking a little lost for a moment before sitting down on the steps next to him. They're quiet for a moment, long enough for Daryl to start hoping that maybe Glenn will just drop the subject.

 

But he doesn't.

 

“Just talk to her, man,” he says quietly, nodding over towards Carol. She's closing up the book now and pressing a kiss to the crown of Judith's head. Maggie is already picking up little Hershel, half asleep and burrowing into his momma's embrace. “We're still alive,” Glenn continues, smiling at the sight of his wife and son. He turns to face Daryl, resting a hand on his shoulder. “That's a chance. Don't waste it.”

 

Not waiting for a reply, he stands and walks over to Maggie, giving her a sweet kiss and ruffling his son's dark hair. Daryl watches the sight for a moment, a sense of longing overcoming him that he doesn't really know how to handle. Looking back at Carol, he notices that Carl has captured Judith's attention with Eugene's remote controlled car, and so Carol is free from the kids.

 

She meets his gaze across the front yard, smiling at him. All bright and sweet. He smiles back, just a twitch of the corner of his mouth that probably looks fucking ridiculous. But she doesn't seem put off. Quite the opposite, she pushes herself off the ground and walks over to him, the hem of her blue dress kissing the grass.

 

His heart beats a million miles per hour as she approaches.

 

“Hey,” she breathes, sitting down next to him. Her shoulder brushes his, just an inch of space between her delicate flats and his heavy, mud-caked boots.

 

“Hey,” he replies, his voice hoarse, no more than a choked noise.

 

For a while, they watch the others in silence. Enjoying the food and the conversation, the mild, peaceful day coming to a close.

 

“I'm glad we did this,” Carol sighs, her lips cured into a dream-like smile.

 

All Daryl can do is nod, Glenn's words playing on repeat in his mind. His cheeks flush, knowing that Glenna and Tara are most definitely watching him – no matter how hard they try to be subtle about it.

 

Worrying his thumbnail between his teeth, he turns towards Carol, chewing on his next words. They should slip from his tongue easily, but he feels like a fool just considering speaking them out loud.

 

“Ya... Ya look real nice today,” he mutters eventually, quickly tilting his head down to avoid the humiliation he's surely about to face when she laughs at him or teases him the way she always used to. He never felt humiliated back then, but if she were to make fun of him _now_ , he wouldn't be able to take it. “Real pretty,” he adds nonetheless.

 

He's pretty sure she's going to be offended or take it the wrong way.

 

She could think he's a real creep.

 

She could think he's overstepping a line.

 

She could think he's a fool for even considering she might want to hear this from him.

 

She could think he-

 

Delicate, soft fingers ghost over his jaw and he startles, nearly bolting. But when her warm palm cups his cheek, he's petrified on the spot, looking up into her pale blue eyes.

 

She's smiling. Not because she thought what he said was funny or ridiculous. No. It's a hesitant, almost shy smile, her cheeks tinted in the slightest shade of rose. Then, slowly, she leans in, and his mouth goes dry.

 

When her lips press to his other cheek, his heart skips a beat and he curls his hands into fists against his thigh, eyes wide open. Her lips are soft against his coarse stubble, her breath warm and damp and she lingers for a moment. “Thank you,” she whispers, sending a shiver down his spine.

 

She pulls away slowly, slow enough for him to take in the freckles on her pale nose and the twinkle in her eyes. It tugs at his heart to see her put more space between them, but not for long. Gently, she drops her hand from his face and finds his white-knuckled fist. Soft fingertips brush over his knuckles until he relaxes and opens his palm.

 

Her fingers entwine easily with his, like a key fitting into a lock and he can't tear his eyes away from the sight, heart drumming a rapid rhythm against his ribcage.

 

He decides to be brave, giving her hand a little squeeze and it seems to have been the right thing to do. An encouragement for her to edge a bit closer to him, her head coming to rest against his shoulder.

 

Hell, if the world had to end for him to be granted even just one moment like this, it was worth it.


	55. candy shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt** : “My budget is 5 dollars, what are your recommendations?”

A candy shop. Out of all the damn places they could have found, it had to be a damn candy shop. They're short on food, but a bunch of chocolate bars and hard candy surely isn't what everybody back at the prison had in mind when he and Carol left for their supply run.

 

It's better than nothing. But not what he wanted.

 

Carol, however, seems to have a blast. Her eyes are wide and shiny, lips curled into a smile as she strolls past the mostly untouched displays.

 

This place has been mostly spared. The only thing that tells him somebody did come in here is the broken front door and the scattered candy and flyers around the mostly emptied cash register. That must have happened long ago, back when shit first hit the fan. Back when people thought stealing money or TVs would be the most beneficial thing. Back when nobody realized what was really going on. Before anyone really understood the worth of a single bar of chocolate.

 

He's about to drop his empty backpack onto the ground and start shoving as much as he can fit in there when the sound of Carol's giggle captures his attention.

 

She's snagging a few lonely dollar bills from the tiled floor behind the counter – pastel pinks and mint greens, all of them making his eyes hurt. Waving them proudly, she walks over to him with a bounce to her step and a lightness to her that nearly takes his breath away.

 

“My budget is five dollars,” she announces, holding up the money before taking him completely by surprise and linking her arm with his. The side of her warm, soft body melds into his own and he stands there like a complete fool, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. “What are your recommendations?”

 

His mouth is dry and he hasn't got a fucking clue what to say or what inspired this.

 

“Eh-,” he starts, gaping at her before quickly ducking his head as his cheeks begin to flame. “We should- Gotta grab 's much as we can.”

 

He wants to play along with her, pretend like everything is all right with the world and he took her here. Maybe on a date. Would she even have gone on a date with him? Would he ever have had the balls to ask her?

 

Probably not. He ain't even brave enough to pretend right now.

 

Carol doesn't miss is, gently nudging his side with her elbow and smiling up at him.

 

“Think we can tuck something away for ourselves?” She sounds teasing and mischievous in a way that makes him wish he wasn't such a bloody coward.

 

 

 

A few hours later, they return to the prison with bags full of chocolate bars, hard candy and a lot of very much appreciated mint chewing gum. It's not the outcome anyone hoped for, but even the smallest things are appreciated these days.

 

The smiles on the kids' faces when he opens a bag of multicolored candies is priceless, and makes him think that maybe everything _is_ all right with the world after all.

 

 

 

That night after dinner, he takes over watch from Tyreese.

 

Standing at the edge of the tower, arms resting on the rusty bannister, he watches the handful of walkers roaming the field beyond the prison. Their moans are faint, and the orange glow of dusk creates a peaceful atmosphere that he soaks in.

 

Creaking on the stairs announces someone's arrival, but the light, barely noticeable steps give away who it is. She's she only one who comes up here when he's on watch.

 

She's smiling when he turns to face her, holding up a small plastic bag.

 

“Brought you something.”


	56. proud of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can someone please shoot him?"

The prick won’t stop talking. Won’t stop pestering her. Keeps pushing into her space even though she keeps trying to put more of that between them.

She’s got her arms curled tightly around herself and wears a polite but strained smile. He’s all but backed her into the side of her locker, one hand pressed next to her head as he leans in with that sleazy smile of his.

Daryl balls his hands into tight fists, anger coiling in his veins - ready to snap. If Peletier takes one more step, he’s going to storm over there and drag him out of here by the collar of his pretentious polo shirt.

“He’s so disgusting,” Lori whispers, taking a few books out of her bag to stuff them into her locker. Rick stays silent but he’s watching the scene with narrowed eyes. “Maybe we should help her out.”

“No, she’d be so embarrassed,” Andrea says, lips pursed and venom in her voice. She’s right. The last thing Carol wants is for anyone to come to her rescue. She’d only be mad at them. At _him_.

“Can someone please shoot him?” Tara groans, voicing what everybody is thinking.

Daryl hisses through his teeth, his own nails biting into his palm.

Peletier chooses that moment to lift a hand and tuck an auburn curl behind Carol’s pale ear, fingers ghosting over her freckled cheek.

Daryl tells himself he’s only angry because Carol clearly wants nothing to do with the ass. Backs away from his touch and drops the smile.

But he can’t deny that he’s jealous, too. Jealous and afraid Carol might actually prefer Peletier to him. He’s too much of a coward to make any advances, so he shouldn’t be surprised that others are stepping up.

But does it have to be this asshole out of all people?

The sound of a slap fills the busy hallway then, jolting him out of his pitiful thoughts, and he only now realizes that Peletier had moved even closer, no doubt trying to shove his tongue down Carol’s throat.

But she seems to finally have had enough, and the entire hallway is quiet as she stands there in front of Peletier, hand still raised.

“Leave me alone!” she hisses, turning on her heels and marching over towards where Daryl and her friends are standing wide-eyed and about as stunned as Peletier.

“Woah,” Tara mumbles, and Daryl has to force himself to shut his mouth.

He didn’t expect that.

“Can we go?” Carol asks when she gets back, a little breathless. Meeting his gaze, she ducks her head, cheeks a little flushed.

Nobody disagrees.

She stays close to him on the way to Chemistry, her arm brushing his every now and again.

“’m proud o’ ya,” he mutters then, quiet enough for the others not to hear.

The corners of her mouth curl up into the sweetest smile.


	57. bad driver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “No it’s ‘Protect and Serve’ not ‘Get Rekt and Swerve’.”   
> _(I tweaked it a little bit)_

Rick has always been a shitty driver. But at this rate, they’re never going to make it to the damn concert alive. Hell, they’re unlikely to make it to the next town.

He’s going a little too fast and a little too reckless, no doubt still high from the good news of being accepted into police academy.

This ain’t exactly the most fitting way of celebrating.

Daryl feels horrible enough as it is, squeezed into the backseat between T and Carol and Andrea. It’s hot and humid in the old car, his shirt plastered to his back.

He never wanted to come in the first place.

Seems morbid enough that he’ll probably die tonight. Just his damn luck.

Carol isn’t doing much better, her body tense where it’s pressed against his own. Every now and then she gasps a little, jolting when they hit a bump in the road.

“Sweetheart, can you slow down a little?” Lori asks, her voice barely audible over the blaring, disastrously annoying music. She’s holding on to the handle above the passenger seat, her face a little paler than usual.

“Sorry,” Rick mutters, hitting the breaks and it’s like he never drove a car before, sending them all jolting forward when the car slows down immensely.

Carol yelps by his side, her hand shooting out to grasp his own that had been resting on his thigh. Her grip is strong, nails biting into his skin.

“Jesus, man!” he hollers, his own heart racing in his chest. “Some cop you’ll make. It’s protect and serve, not get rekt and swerve!”

T snorts at that, and Carol’s death grip eases a little. She doesn’t, however, pull her hand away and when he turns to look at her, she’s smiling ever so slightly.

“Sorry, guys, sorry.” Rick sounds a little out of it and it makes Daryl wonder if he ain’t drunk after all. But he doesn’t think about it, too caught up in the feeling of Carol’s soft hand in his own. A delicate thumb brushing over his knuckles.

A car passes them, the headlights illuminating the car and in the bright light Carol seems to come to her senses. Quickly, she pulls her hand away into her own lap, leaving his own behind feeling cold and tingly.

She doesn’t say anything, staying quiet for the rest of the ride while the others discuss where to grab food after the concert. Every now and then, though, he can feel her eyes on him.

Sometimes, he’s brave enough to look back.

The curiosity in them steals his breath away.


	58. you're cute, daryl dixon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** “Someone wrote I’m cute in the bathroom stall and your notes match the handwriting”

He can’t believe he didn’t make the connection before.

Staring at Carol’s notebook, listening to her going on and on about how she’ll never be able to finish her English assignment on time, he feels like the world’s biggest idiot.

Ain’t a new sensation, but it feels especially bad today.

Last Monday, he’d headed into the restroom at school to take a piss when he’d seen it. Among all the doodles of dicks and tits and crude comments that even he wouldn’t voice out loud, he’d found himself staring at a comment that made him run for the hills.

_you’re cute, daryl dixon_

He’d assumed it was some of those asshole jocks trying to tease him, and he hadn’t gone back there ever since.

Turns out it wasn’t one of them.

How did he not recognize Carol’s handwriting? He’s spent the last three years staring at it when she wrote in class by his side, when they studied night after night at her place.

He knows it. Knows _her_.

But that knowledge failed him here.

“Are you okay?” Carol asks when she realizes he’s barely listening. Sitting crossed-legged on her bed with a book in her lap and a pencil spinning between her fingers, she almost looks innocent.

Almost.

Why would she write that?

He thinks about straight up asking her. But he quickly discards that idea, too afraid of the answer.

“’m fine,” he mutters instead, shoving the notebook away with his head ducked to hide his flaming red cheeks.

For a moment he thinks he got away with it. But Carol is nothing if not smart, a hell of a lot smarter than him and that’s never been more obvious than it is now.

“You saw it?” she asks, and when he lifts his head, brows creased, she looks curious. “I was wondering.”

His throat feels dry, his palms clammy.

“Why?” he asks, hating the hoarse sound of his voice and all his insecurities are stirring awake. “This some kinda joke? Think this is funny? What'ya think the other guys were thinkin’ when they-”

His increasingly anger-filled rant is put to a quick stop when Carol suddenly kneels in front of him on the bed, her hands pressed against his shoulders and her lips slanting against his.

He freezes, eyes wide, too stunned to respond.

A second later, it’s over and Carol pulls back, her breath warm and sweet against his face.

“I meant it,” she whispers, one hand lifting up to cradle his cheek. “Didn’t you think of that?”

He didn’t.

He wouldn’t have dared to even hope for that.

When she kisses him again, so careful and gentle and slow, he bites back the urge to pinch himself.


	59. bob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Is your name Bob? You look like a Bob!"

“Daddy, look! It’s a dog,” Sophia squeals, tugging insistently at Daryl’s hand. He stumbles down the gravel path of the park after her, shaking his head at her enthusiasm.

“Slow down, kid,” he tries to scold her half-heartedly, looking over his shoulder at Carol who is trailing after them with an amused smile, pushing the stroller.

Sophia doesn’t seem to hear him at all, bouncing forward in her fluttery yellow dress and blonde pigtails. The woman with the round little pug has already noticed the attention, smiling gently and kneeling down to pet her dog’s head.

“Daddy, look!” Sophia repeats, giddy with excitement.

She lets go of his hand then, coming to a breathless stop. “Hello,” she says to the woman, suddenly a bit shy.

“Hello,” the woman replies kindly, and the dog wiggles its tail, already eager to sniff out the little girl who is clearly willing to shower him with attention.

“Can I pet him, please”? Sophia asks, clearly struggling to fight back the urge to just cradle it in her arms.

“Of course,” the woman agrees and Sophia yelps excitedly, kneeling down.

“Hello,” she says with a high pitched voice, ruffling the dog’s short fur. “Is your name Bob? You look like a Bob!”

“Close,” the woman laughs. “It’s Billy.”

Daryl watches with a full heart, smiling at Carol when she catches up with them. Their son is deep asleep in his stroller, oblivious to all the excitement.

“We might have to reconsider getting a dog,” Carol says quietly, leaning into Daryl’s side as their little girl rubs the dog’s round belly, its legs spread in all directions. It would probably purr if it could.

Daryl hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to Carol’s temple and soaking in the sunny, happy moment that he never believed he’d be lucky enough to experience.


	60. the morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** “I fell asleep on your couch after a party but you didn’t complain and made breakfast for the both of us”

He can’t believe he let Rick talk him into coming to this party at all, much less how he ended up drinking so fucking much.

All he knows is that he’s slowly waking up on the fanciest white couch he’s ever seen – a hell of a lot more comfortable than the shitty thin mattress back in the shithole he calls home. His head pounds as he opens his eyes, the room flooded with sunlight.

Groaning, he squeezes them shut again, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. He can smell beer and sweat and his mouth tastes awful.

He’s gonna kill Rick, that’s for sure. Clearly, he thought just leaving him here last night was the best idea.

To Hell with him.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a soft voice says, startling him so much that he jolts upright. The room spins for a moment and he struggles to keep his stomach contents in, gagging a few times and sucking in deep breaths.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He looks up then, ignoring the stabbing pain behind his temples.

Carol.

She’s the girl who lives here, who threw the party in the first place. She only moved here a few weeks ago and has since become good friends with Lori – which is the only reason Rick was invited and of course he had to drag along more people. Not to mention Shane who seemingly brought along half their school.

“’s all right,” Daryl replies, voice hoarse and filled with more shame than even he is used to. What kind of an asshole is he to fall asleep on her damn couch? “’m…. sorry… ‘bout this,” he stutters, waving vaguely at himself and the couch.

Carol only shrugs and offers him a kind smile. Her whole face lights up when she does it, auburn  curls a little messy, a stark contrast to her pale, freckled skin. She’s still wearing pajamas, and he can’t help but wonder if she feels even remotely as shitty as he does.

She sure as hell doesn’t look like it.

“Don’t worry about it,” she reassures him, and for some reason it’s easy enough to believe her. “I made coffee,” she continues, almost nonchalantly. “You look like you could use it.”

He ducks his head because _fuck_ , he must look even worse than he feels, but Carol has already turned on her heels and is heading to what he vaguely remembers is the kitchen. For a moment, he contemplates just leaving now that he has the chance. But somehow that seems rude now that she offered him coffee and so he reluctantly follows her.

 

 

Coffee has never tasted better than it does now. Sitting on the bar stool while Carol leans against the counter, sipping on her own cup of steaming coffee. He eagerly stuffs his mouth with the scrambled eggs she made for him after much protest from him not to bother.

One thing he has quickly learned is that she’s stubborn and won’t let him boss her around – not that he was trying to. He just felt like shit for taking up her time. But oddly enough, she hadn’t seemed annoyed at all to make breakfast for him, humming as she stirred the eggs and smiling brightly when she served them to him.

She’s easy to talk to as well and that’s something rare. Even with Rick, Daryl barely has a real conversation. But Carol… she just talks and talks and gets _him_ to talk like a magic trick. She doesn’t look at him the way a lot of other people do, either. Not disgusted or afraid or judgmental.

She just smiles.

Eventually, though, they fall into a silence that’s surprisingly comfortable. Taking a look around, Daryl is faced with the aftermath of last night, cups and bottles and leftover food scattered all over, and he feels bad all over again.

“Ya… ya need some help with that?” he asks, nodding at the mess.

Carol sighs deeply, seemingly reminded of the very real task of cleaning up this place before her parents come back. He doesn’t even know where the hell they went to.

“You don’t have to do that,” she replies, quick to dismiss his offer but if she can be persistent to feed him when he just crashed on her couch like an ass, then so can he.

“Don’t mind. Pretty sure some o’ that mess is mine, anyway.”

That makes her laugh, truly and brightly and Daryl feels a little overwhelmed when the corners of his mouth instinctively curl into a bashful smile. All his blood seems to rush into his cheeks.

“All right, Daryl,” she says softly, pushing herself away from the counter and taking a step towards him. “But only if you stay for dinner.”


	61. everybody knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** “Well obviously nothing is going on here!”

If Glenn stays frozen on the spot a second longer, Carol is pretty sure Daryl will kill him. It doesn’t matter that he’s their friend - their family. He’ll be a dead man, instead.

But he stands there, petrified. Eyes wide as saucers and cheeks flaming, one hand still curled around the door handle. Whatever he’d wanted to say has turned to ashes on his tongue.

Carol clutches the sheets against her body, hiding her bare skin as much as possible. After so much time spent on the road, they’ve all seen each other in various states of undress. But this is different.

She’s sure Daryl would have bolted across the room and shoved Glenn out already if he wasn’t completely naked under the sheets, too.

His hands are balled into fists, cheeks flushed and eyes narrowed. He’s angry and embarrassed and humiliated all at once.

“Glenn? You get lost on the way there?” Maggie calls from downstairs, and his wife’s voice seems to pull Glenn out of his stupor.

Clearing his throat, he visibly shakes. “Ehm…,” he mumbles, looking down at the polished hardwood floor and then back up again - lips quivering from the effort of holding back an unmistakable grin.

“Well, obviously nothing is going on here!” he calls, _so_ not subtle and Carol is afraid Daryl is going to explode in a second.

“Get out!” he hisses and Glenn lifts his hands in surrender, taking a step back.

“Guess you’re not coming down for dinner,” he says with a shrug, turning around.

“If ya tell anyone-”

“Tell them what?” Glenn asks, looking over his shoulder and no longer attempting to hide his grin. “Everybody knows, man.”

Daryl’s eyes widen and Carol feels like she’s going to throw up on the nice sheets in a second, pressing her palm to her forehead.

“Just lock the door next time,” Glenn suggests with a wink and then he’s gone, the door falling shut. His footsteps are loud on the stairs until the room falls silent.

“Fuck,” Daryl mutters, ducking his head.

Carol eyes him carefully, wondering how long everybody has known about… this. And how they found out.

Surely they didn’t-

She bursts out laughing then, embarrassed and overwhelmed all at the same time. Her stomach tenses and the sheets fall away, and for a moment Daryl stares at her like she’s gone mad.

Eventually, though, he joins in, laughs in that shy and reserved way of his until he presses her into the mattress again and they pick up where they left off.

Laughter fading into sighs and moans.


	62. sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** cramming until 3 in the morning and having to sleep over at each others house

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, and he’s pretty sure neither did she. But the time for good intentions has come and gone when he wakes up in the middle of the night, sprawled out on Carol’s bed.

His text book lays open on his chest, his pen digging into his ribs where it fell. His feet dangle off the edge of the mattress, and the lamp on the bedside table is still switched on, burning his sore eyes.

None of that really bothers him, though.

Carol is fast asleep, her head resting on his stomach, her leg hitched over his. One hand curled into the denim of his jeans just above his knee.

His own hand is splayed against her back, fingertips just barely grazing her ribs.

She can’t be any more comfortable than he is.

But she’s right there in his space. All warm and soft curves that fit perfectly against all his rough edges.

She breathes evenly. Seems calm and rested for once. The last few weeks have been a hassle with exams and college applications, not to mention the whole mess with Peletier.

None of that seems to matter now.

He might still be dreaming. Wouldn’t be the first time his brain conjured images of her like this, content and warm in his arms.

This isn’t a dream, though, and it ain’t right. He’s taking advantage. If she were awake, she’d probably bolt off the bed and put a room’s worth of space between them.

He feels cold already just thinking about pushing her off him, but he tries anyway. Gently nudges at her. She won’t budge, so he nudges a little harder. Considers whispering her name to wake her just enough to move.

But instead, her hand curls even tighter into his pants, nails scraping his thigh through the thick fabric and sending a jolt of electricity through his body.

“Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of something - anything - to distract himself from how damn good she feels. The only thing that could make this any worse would be if she woke up with a hard on basically right in her face.

Once again, he tries to push her away, and once again she won’t have any of it. She makes a small, disgruntled noise and burrows further into him.

“No,” she murmurs, his eyes widening. “Stay.”

She can’t be awake. Just can’t be. Can’t possibly want him to stay when she’s-

She lifts her head then, just enough to prop her chin against his stomach, eyes barely open, auburn curls unruly where they frame her face.

“Please?” she whispers, gently reaching out to take the book from his chest and toss it onto the bed.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Daryl nods, his fingers fidgeting against the sheets until Carol takes one hand into her own.

“Sleep,” she murmurs, resting her head a little higher, his heart pounding against her temple.

Her fingers entwine with his, and when he curls his other arm loosely around her, she hums softly - the best lullaby he’s ever heard.


	63. let me help you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Prison time, Ed is still around, Sophia still died the way we saw onscreen, and Daryl just found Carol after everyone assumed she was dead

She’s frail. Trembling and wasted away on the best of days but today is far from that. She’s alive, but barely. Weighs nothing in his arms when he carries her out of the tombs.

He can’t believe he found her. That she was still there, hiding.

He thought she was gone. Had put the paper rose on her empty grave - a grave her piece of shit husband never once bothered to visit. Her death, it seemed, was an inconvenience to him more than anything else. Nobody left to do shit for him. Nobody left to beat and bruise and torture at night.

They all know.

They all hear it.

See it.

Every one of them has tried.

But she wouldn’t let them help.

Now, she’s clinging to him, blood-crusted fingers curling into his shirt.

“Daryl,” she whimpers as he lowers her down onto the thin mattress - grateful that nobody is around. He wants to make sure she’ll be fine before the rest of them come running.

Before her husband shows up.

“’s all right,” he whispers, supporting her head as he helps her lay down. His fingers sift through her dirty hair, ghosting over her cheek, lingering there. “Y'all right now.”

It’s an empty promise.

Just like the promise he made her to find her little girl.

All he’d found was a ruined doll.

Her daughter’s walking corpse had found them, instead.

“Here,” he says, reaching over to grab a flask from the small nightstand. Helping her lift her head, he presses it to her chapped lips. She’s eager, desperate. “Easy,” he murmurs, pulling the flask away for a moment. “Gonna be sick if ya drink too much.”

She’s still for a few seconds but then she nods, resting her head back down on the pillow.

Putting the flask away, Daryl tries to calm his nerves. His heart still pounds violently against his ribcage, his palms are sweaty.

The concrete floor pressing uncomfortably against his knees, but he doesn’t dare move away. Instead, his hands find one of hers, enveloping it in his own. It’s bold and inappropriate but he can’t help it.

He thought he’d lost her.

_Forever._

The corner of her mouth quivers almost as if she wants to smile, and even though her eyes are closed, it means so much to him.

“Thought ya were dead,” he chokes, throat tied up and tears prickling in his eyes. “Thought ya were…”

Her fingers flutter against his palm.

“I’m still here,” she croaks, hoarse and strained.

She needs to rest. Needs a bath and fresh clothes, water and food and a comfortable bed. But the moment stretches on, quiet and perfect in its own way because she’s here with him.

He’s been given another chance. One he’s not going to waste.

He needs to be sure, though.

“Ya want me to get Ed?” he asks, the bastard’s name burning his tongue. Carol is quick to shake her head, wincing at the slight movement.

“No, please.” It’s a broken, fragile plead.

He strokes his thumb over her pulse point, feels her shudder.

“All right.” Slowly, he lifts her hand. “Y'ain’t ever gotta be with him again,” he promises, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. Touching her skin like he’s wanted to do so many times since the day they met. “Lemme help ya. _Please._ ”

One word from her and Ed is gone. He knows Rick won’t object it, none of the others will. And even if they did, he wouldn’t give a damn. He’d pull the trigger anyway. Would leave with her if that’s what it took. All he needs is her word.

Her eyes open just enough for him to spot the trace of shimmering tears in them.

“Yes,” she breathes, and with that simple word his own tears overwhelm him. Dropping his head, he presses his forehead against her collarbone, sucking in a deep breath.

There are a hundred promises he wants to make her. That he’ll keep her safe. That he’ll never leave her. He wants to tell her how much he loves her but that makes no sense. They’re nothing to each other, really. Not yet. Never could be until now and he doesn’t know shit about love anyway.

But it’s the truth, he knows it.

Thing about promises is that they don’t matter much with the way the world is now. Maybe they never did.

What matters is that she’s here right now. Not dead in the ground.


	64. by the lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** “I don’t like dressing out in front of people in the locker room can you cover me from now on”
> 
> _I changed the prompt a little bit because I figured there’d be separate boy/girl locker rooms, so otherwise it wouldn’t have worked._

She's surprised he decided to come along at all. Knows how uncomfortable he tends to be in a crowd. Knows that he will never actually allow himself to enjoy the lake. There's nothing in the world that would make him go for a swim.

 

She knows what he hides under his sleeveless shirts. Has seen the scars he carries like weights on his shoulders. Brief glimpses. He trusts her with the knowledge but even she isn't allowed to help him carry the weight.

 

The others don't know. They might be aware that his home life is far from perfect, might know about his father's temper, but they're blissfully unaware of the extent of his drunken rage.

 

It's how Daryl wants things to be, and she has to accept that.

 

So, when Rick decided to throw his birthday party at the lake this year, that seemed like the last place Daryl would want to be.

 

But he's here anyway. Reluctant and quiet and spending most of the time sitting in the shade of a large tree, arms wrapped around his knees, watching the others swim and eat and laugh. Carol catches herself looking over at him more than once, concerned and slightly heartbroken by the sight of him.

 

The others, however, won't really let her go. Lori drags her into the water for another swim, Michonne and Andrea stop her halfway to Daryl with a cup of strawberry something that burns on its way down her throat. Every time she tries to get to him, somebody pulls her back.

 

By the time she does make it to him, it's no longer because she wants to but because he's soaking wet from head to toe thanks to a very drunk Shane and a blue bucket full of lake water. Daryl is cursing and lunging himself at Shane, hands balled into fists and she only barely manages to hold him back.

 

“Daryl, stop!” she calls over both of their hollering, some of the other piling up around them, partially to help put a stop to it and partly out of curiosity – probably hoping for a fight. Carol grabs Daryl’s arms, the cold lake water pearling on his warm skin. “Please, stop.”

 

“Better listen to ya girlfriend, Dixon,” Shane growls, eyes narrow and shoulders broad. It's Rick who drags him away, knocking him about the head with anger written clearly all over his face.

 

Daryl is tense but still, chest heaving with every breath, his shirt plastered to his torso.

 

“Daryl,” she says again, lower this time, quiet enough for nobody but him to hear it. She splays her hand over his upper arm, no longer gripping him but simply applying a hint of pressure.

 

Rick looks over his shoulder then, his expression full of guilt. “My clothes are over there, should be all dry,” he offers, nodding to the large towel draped over by the tree where he and Lori discarded their clothes earlier.

 

Daryl gives him a stiff nod, but Carol is afraid he's going to head to his truck and leave instead.

 

“Come on,” she says softly, steering him away from the dissipating crowd and up the slight hill. “He's such an asshole,” she mutters, her hand still on Daryl's arms.

 

He doesn't react, marching briskly ahead, body still vibrating with bottled up rage.

 

“We can go,” she suggests. It's a bit silly because they didn't even come here together. She's not his girlfriend, even though Shane said she was. She _wants_ to be. But she's not sure Daryl is ready for that. He's skittish and afraid on a good day, and there aren't very many of those.

 

He grunts something she can't understand when they reach the large towel, clothes strewn all over it. She watches as Daryl balls his hands into fists over and over again against his thighs, staring down at the button down shirt and washed out gray jeans.

 

She knows he'd rather catch pneumonia in his wet clothes than get changed out here.

 

A second before she wants to offer him help, offer him to leave again, he turns to look at her.

 

“Could ya...”

 

He doesn't seem to know how to say what he wants to say, nodding down at the clothes and then down at himself, cheeks burning and every muscle in his body rigid.

 

“Of course,” Carol murmurs, offering him the slightest smile.

 

He peels off his wet pants first, boots discarded by the side of the towel. Carol has positioned herself in front of him, blocking everyone's view. Partly, at least. He's much broader than she is, but they're far enough away from the others for it to not really matter.

 

His pants hit the ground with a heavy thud, and Carol curses herself when her eyes are briefly drawn to the pale length of Daryl's legs. Narrow and strong. Her eyes drift over his black briefs for a moment before she quickly looks away, staring into the woods over his shoulder.

 

She prays he didn't notice.

 

But if he did, he doesn't let it stop him. Instead, he reaches for one of the smaller towels and hastily dries off his legs before putting on Rick's jeans. They don't quite fit him right but it's better than nothing right now.

 

He hesitates then, his hands ghosting over the hem of his shirt.

 

“It's all right,” she whispers, locking eyes with him. She knows it isn't really all right, but she needs him to understand that he has no reason to be afraid of her.

 

His throat bops as he swallows, and she notices the slight tremble in his hands when he peels off the soaked shirt. He shivers, and Carol takes a step closer, making sure nobody can see the scars scattered over his chest and stomach. Smaller than the ones littering his back.

 

She has to hold herself back from reaching out and pressing her palms to his chest. He wouldn't let her. Not here, not now.

 

Again, she wonders why he insisted on staying.

 

Quickly, he rubs the towel over himself and pulls the shirt over his head. It's different from what he usually wear, fits him a little too tightly, but Carol feels her eyes drawn to him anyway.

 

For a moment, they are both quiet, the air filled with the sound of birds and their friends laughing and splashing in the lake.

 

“Ya wanna... Ehm,” Daryl stutters, looking down at his socked feet. Only now does Carol realize he's avoided properly looking at her this whole time, and she suddenly feels a little exposed in the red bikini she's wearing. Nervously, she wraps her arms around her middle – not because she's uncomfortable with him seeing her like this, but because she worries he might not _like_ it.

 

“Ya wanna grab some food?” he asks eventually, chewing nervously on his thumb nail. A weight falls from Carol's shoulders and she smiles. Hopes, deep down, that he's been meaning to ask her this all along. Hopes that maybe he came here today because of her. Hopes that maybe he wanted to stay _for_ her.

 

“Yes.”


	65. she's home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** If it's not you, then I won't have anyone else.

He didn’t mean to be selfish. That ain’t him. Never has been.

But when she kisses him, brave and bold, he can’t stop himself from kissing her back. From wrapping his arms around her and crushing her to him. He deepens the kiss, swallows her gasps.

He takes what she offers and so much more, drowns in her, mind clouded as their clothes fall away and all he can feel is the softness of her bare, pale skin and the heat of her around him.

He takes and takes like a selfish bastard but maybe she’s doing the same. Clinging to him with nails biting into his dusty skin and legs wrapped tight around him, whimpering his name.

Her back arches when she falls apart, bringing her impossibly closer and he lets go, drives himself as deep as he can.

After, it’s quiet. The small house she sought refuge in creaks and rumbles every now and then, but Daryl barely hears it. Buries his face in the crook of her neck instead and inhales the scent of her, vanilla and flowers and fresh sweat. Pressing a kiss to her tender skin.

Her fingers rake through his hair, sending a shudder down spine. He never wants to leave.

Doesn’t want her to pull away.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads, voice thick from the tears he struggles to hold back. He can’t bear to look at her now, keeps his face hidden. “If it ain’t you, I ain’t got nobody else.”

The others have become family. But Carol… Carol is _home._


	66. the notebook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** “I accidentally took your notebook thinking it was mine and you have really nice handwriting and cute doodles”

“I'm not sure Rick even knows that Shane asked me out,” Lori sighs, absent-mindedly twirling her pen around and around. “I haven't said yes yet. I don't know what to do, Carol. They're both nice. But Shane is a bit... I don't know, he's _Shane_. I can't believe he asked me out at all. But that's not enough to actually go out with him, right? If I go out with him, Rick won't forgive me that. And I _really_ like him. But- Carol, are you even listening to me?”

 

Carol is pulled from her trance when Lori's tone changes, and she's met with her friend's iron glare. “Ehm, yes. No. I'm sorry,” she mutters, quickly shutting the notebook she'd been looking at.

 

It's not hers.

 

That's the problem.

 

Plain and gray, run-of-the-mill because she accidentally dropped her perfectly decorated and organized planner into a stupid puddle last month. A cheap, easy replacement.

 

Only this isn't hers. It's not her handwriting that's filling the pages. And it's certainly not her doodles and drawings.

 

“This is serious,” Lori insists, dropping her pen onto her textbook and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I need advice.”

 

Carol feels a little bad for not listening, and she mutters another apology.

 

Sighing, Lori stands up. “I need to pee,” she says, and just like that she's heading out of her bedroom, leaving Carol behind.

 

Her fingers tremble a little when she opens the notebook again. The handwriting is a little small and messy, but overall easy to read. Most of the notes are boring. Reminders of homework and reading assignments. A protocol of Andrea’s history presentation last week. A short shopping list here and there. Reminders to get some tires fixed.

 

It feels like an intrusion to even open it. But Carol can't help herself, surrendering to her curiosity. She can't believe she accidentally took Daryl Dixon's notebook. He sits next to her in English, rarely ever says a word. Always looks caged in and tense.

 

What she sees scattered in between his notes is unexpected.

 

Drawings. Lots of them. Doodles of all sorts of things from apples to bikes to the weird little dolls Mrs Niedermeyer has lined up on the window sill.

 

And her. There's at least a handful of drawings of herself and Carol stares at them in wonder. Drawn with just a pencil and with so much attention to detail. Every curl of her hair, the bridge of her nose, even the freckles dusted over her cheeks.

 

They're beautiful but she doesn't know what to make of them. Thinks for a moment she's just an easy subject sitting right next to him. But she doesn't spot drawings of anyone else. Just her.

 

A part of her thinks it might be a little creepy. The amount of time he must have stared at her without her noticing. But it's intriguing far more than it is intrusive. He's been a riddle all this time, but this is a glimpse behind the facade that she did not expect.

 

* * *

 

He looks miserable. Pale and shaky almost as if he's come down with the flu when he walks into the classroom. Head ducked as usual, sliding silently into his seat and dumping his torn bag onto the table.

 

Carol feels a nervous flutter in her stomach, shifting a little restlessly on her chair. She's about to say something when suddenly he holds out her notebook.

 

“'m sorry, took yours yesterday,” he mumbles, the noise of the others streaming into the classroom making it hard to understand him. She takes it from him with a smile, but he looks away almost instantly. Like he's afraid.

 

Slowly, she pulls his notebook from her back. Holding it out for him.

 

“Here,” she says softly, and he all but rips it from her hands, stubbornly staring down at his desk. Cheeks flaming red.

 

“They're really good,” she says, folding her hands on the table. “The drawings.”

 

Daryl doesn't react. He looks like he wants to run and never come back and she wishes she could change that. “I mean it,” she insists softly.

 

He's quiet for a moment longer, clutching the book so hard the white of his knuckles shines through.

 

“'m sorry,” he mutters then, all hoarse and low. “Don't mean to be a creep or somethin'.”

 

“I don't think you are.”

 

He looks up then, blue eyes full of suspicion and wonder. He can't let himself believe her, that's for sure. Probably expects her to play him. But that's the last thing on her mind.

 

“I really don't.” She offers him the most gentle smile she can offer, not surprised at all when he ducks his head again. Some of the tension seems to ease, though. She's about to ask him about the drawings when Lori suddenly appears in front of Carol's desk.

 

“Oh God, Carol,” she pants, cheeks red and eyes glossy. “Rick heard. He heard, oh God, what am I going to do?”

 

Carol chances one last glimpse at Daryl, and maybe she's just imagining it but she'd bet that the corner of his mouth curls up into something akin to a smile.

 

A smile looks better on him than she could have imagined.


	67. i love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** “Now, not to be forward, but I love you.”

She’s pretty. No,that ain’t the right word. Beautiful, that’s what she is. Tall and slender, milky skin dusted with freckles. Pink lips curled into a kind smile, silver hair curling around her gentle face.

He ain’t never seen anything as beautiful as her.

Ain’t his damn place to think like that, though. He’s just here to put in the damn roof windows. She’s got a nice place, quiet neighborhood, lots of kids running around the neat front yards. White picket fences, rose bushes. That kinda shit.

Not where he belongs.

But she’s kind and polite, bringing him iced tea and sandwiches every day as he works in the blistering heat. Room’s gonna look real nice when he’s done, sunlight flooding it, the woods behind offering a damn nice view.

Carol, that’s her name.

Her kid’s around somewhere, too. Running around the house laughing and singing. Happy in a way he never was. There’s no husband, he figured out that much. Ain’t none of his business neither, though.

When he’s done with the last window after three days, she nearly cries. Stands in the room with shimmering eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Thank you,” she exhales, smiling at him so brightly that he has to stare down at his feet. “Thank you so much.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” he insists, scratching his chin, nervously shifting on the spot. He just did his damn job. She’s having none of it, though. Takes a few steps closer instead so he can’t help but look at her.

“It’s not nothing,” she insists, and he wonders how a person can be so _soft_. “This is more beautiful than I ever- not to be forward, but I love you,” she laughs, smiling brightly.

He scoffs to hide the increasing blush on his cheek, fingers fidgeting against his thighs.

“Glad ya like it,” he mutters then. A part of him is eager to get out of here before he makes a complete fool of himself, but the other part is reluctant to leave. He’ll never see her again if he does.

But there’s nothing he can do. His time here is up. “Gotta get-” he starts, but Carol interrupts him.

“Stay for a coffee?” she asks, looking a little nervous and hesitant but she doesn’t retract her question. “I made coconut pie,” she adds, his mouth watering just at the thought.

He has time. Has no new client until tomorrow. But his hands feel sweaty and his pulse races quick enough to give him a damn heart attack. It might be inappropriate to stay now that the job is done. Now that he has no place here.

“It’s all right if you don’t want to,” Carol quickly rambles, misinterpreting his silence. “I’m sure you’re busy and-”

“Ain’t busy,” he blurts out, mentally slapping himself for being such a damn idiot. “I mean… I wanna. Stay.” Her eyes light up in a way he’s not familiar with. Nobody has ever looked at him like that and _damn_ , he could get used to it.


	68. everything is fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "Shut up, its fine, just chill, we're fine, I'm fine, everything is cool, everything is good! We're chill, nothing is happening and I am not freaking out, not at all, we're FINE"

The moment he steps through the door, caked in dirt and with three rabbits slung over his shoulder, it’s like all hell has broken loose.

People are rushing around the living room restlessly, a constant murmur filling the room. There’s a lot of noise coming from the kitchen, and he can hear muffled cries upstairs.

“The fuck is goin’ on?” he asks the person nearest to him, which happens to be Tara. She looks pale, jittery. Stops in here tracks when she sees him.

“It’s fine, just chill, we’re fine, I’m fine, everything is cool, everything is good!” she rambles, making him dizzy. “We’re chill, nothing is happening and I am not freaking out, not at all, we’re _fine_.”

She doesn’t even give him a second to ask what the hell she’s going on about before she’s gone again, pushing past him and out of the door. “Gonna go get Denise!” she calls to nobody in particular, leaving Daryl behind in the doorway.

He stands there, perplexed. This morning when he’d left everything had been quiet. Peaceful. Carol had made scrambled eggs – a luxury not that they have chickens - and he’d kissed her neck and the curve of her shoulder as she stood at the stove, arms wrapped around her as she leaned into him. They’d eaten together on the front porch, the sun kissing their skin.

Now, it’s like he’s been thrown into some shit movie.

A door opens upstairs and he can hear another cry, louder and more distinct this time. Maggie.

Slowly, things start to make sense, and his own nerves begin to prickle with worry. He’s about to march over to where Rosita is rummaging through some medical supplies when he spots Carol coming down the stairs.

“How is she?” Three voices ask all at once, but Carol just waves them off, her eyes meeting his in the crowd. Even from across the room he can see the relief in her eyes to have him back here safe and sound.

“She’s fine, I’d be more worried about Glenn” Carol promises with a laugh, pushing past the others and towards Daryl.

“She havin’ the kid?” he asks, hands buried in his pockets as she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. It’s still awkward to him when the others are around.

Carol nods, sighing. “It’s a little early but Carson said the baby looked healthy last time we took her to Hilltop. She’s strong.”

“Yeah, she is.” Daryl nods. “Quite the audience, though,” he mumbles, nodding at the half-dozen people crowding their living room.

Carol smirks then, pressing her hands into her hips. Her eyes sparkling. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me out with that.”


	69. something more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** How about an au where they are both alone somewhere... campsite/restaurant/bookstore/convention and they hit it off and then...

Carol doesn't know why she ever allowed Lori to talk her into coming along to this girls trip like that's something they usually do. Like road trips are something they do. Like camping is something they do.

 

But right now, she thanks whatever gods may exist that she gave in and came along, that she sent Sophia to stay with the Greene's for the week.

 

She has never felt this good. Has never felt this free.

 

It's risky and bold and so unlike her but here she is, pressed into her sleeping bag, grasping at the smooth fabric almost frantically. Blouse half unbuttoned, skirt pushed up to her waist, her underwear lost somewhere by the tent's opening.

 

Daryl. That's his name.

 

He's propping himself up on his forearms above her, face buried in the crook of her neck where he pants and groans as he pushes into her again and again. The stretch of him, warm and deep and throbbing, makes her see stars.

 

She never knew it could be like this. Had resigned herself to a life as a spinster since her divorce.

 

This, though... This is as far from that as anything she ever could have imagined in her wildest dreams.

 

They only met this morning. He works around here, that much she remembers in the haze of it all, but she can't dwell on any thought for long. She bites back a moan when he shifts slightly on his knees, changing the angle and hitting a spot inside of her that causes a spark of electricity to shoot up her spine.

 

She can feel herself clenching around him and he notices, too. Hissing a low, hoarse _fuck_ against her pulse point and picking up speed, his thrusts deep and hard. Her body is inching up the sleeping bag with every thrust of his narrow hips and she wraps her arms around his shoulders for leverage, legs curled around his waist.

 

White heat coils low in her belly, helped by the way his pelvis rocks against her perfectly, creating just enough friction to catapult her towards the edge.

 

She's never done this kind of thing before. Was never given the chance. Never believed she'd even be given the opportunity.

 

“Shit,” Daryl grunts then, fanatically shoving a calloused hand between them. He's still wearing his shirt, his pants unbuckled and pushed down over his ass. It's all rushed and harsh and she has no idea what will happen after this is done. But it doesn't matter. Not right now.

 

“Can't,” he groans, sucking the tender skin above her collarbone into his mouth enough to bruise it, his hips moving erratically into hers. He's just as close as she is, maybe closer, and she arches her back when his fingers find her wet flesh.

 

It's unpracticed and messy but it's enough. God, it's more than enough and that tight coil of heat in her core snaps. His name tears from her throat as a cry and he's quick to muffle it with his lips, a bruising kiss that only intensifies the rush of her release as it shoots through her body. Legs and arms trembling as she holds onto him, feels him push himself even deeper than before, pulsing inside of her.

 

The kiss slows down as the aftershocks of her their release wash over them in pulsing waves, her muscles fluttering around his length, making him shudder. “Fuck,” he murmurs against her lips, and she can't help but smile a little.

 

When he ends the kiss it's only to bury his face in the crook of her neck again, mouthing softer and gentler kisses there from her collarbone up to where her hair is damp and frizzy behind her ear. It's different than before. Less frantic, and she allows her eyes to flutter shut for a moment. Her hands weave into his silky hair, hold him close.

 

Pressed so close together, she can feel his heart thunder in his chest against her own.

 

As he grows soft inside of her, she uncurls her legs from around his waist, lets them sink down onto the bunched up sleeping bag. She'll be sore tomorrow from head to toe, but she relishes in that knowledge now.

 

Maybe she'll ask him if he wants to grab a coffee later.

 

Or maybe she'll move on from here and never see him again. Thinking about that comes with a sharp snap of pain and she pushes the thought away. Just cradles him closer to her and presses a kiss to his temple.

 

Sweet.

 

As if this was something _more_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always tough to write these two in a one night stand type of scenario, so I tend to add some backstory or keep it vague - like I've done here. Don't think too hard about how they got here, I guess ;)


	70. by accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** “I may have accidentally sort of adopted five cats.”

She knows something is up the moment she walks into the kitchen. Her feet ache and there's a dull pain behind her temples that's been pestering her all day. Outside, rain drums against the windows and the cold autumn chill has crept its way beneath her skin.

 

All she wants is to curl up on the couch with some leftover pumping soup and use Daryl as a space heater, fall asleep to one of those Animal Planet documentaries they've been watching all week.

 

She's in for a surprise instead.

 

Daryl stands in the living room, worrying the skin around his thumbnail and clearly avoiding her gaze before she's even said hello.

 

Sophia doesn't look much better. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, chewing her bottom lip. There's a hickey on her neck, something they'd discussed at length when she came back from her ' _study session_ ' with Carl Grimes yesterday. The concealer Carol had forced her to put on it has worn off by now.

 

“What did you do?” Carol asks, freezing in the doorway. All sorts of nightmarish thoughts come to mind. They might have broken the ceramic cat statue she bought for Michonne's wedding which had cost a fortune. Daryl might have crashed the new car - she didn't see it in the driveway. Maybe he let Sophia drive again. Oh God, what if Sophia is _pregnant_?

 

She's not ready to be a grandmother. Not at all. Especially not after she had that pregnancy scare of her own last month. When Daryl had been all hopeful and excited instead of terrified, confusing her more than she's been willing to admit.

 

But it had turned out to be nothing.

 

This, however, isn't nothing. She can tell.

 

“Before you say anything, it wasn't his fault,” Sophia says, looking up at Daryl. That only confuses Carol more.

 

“What the hell did you two do?” she asks again, not at all calmer now that a teen pregnancy is off the table.

 

“Eh-” Daryl mutters, looking down at his socked feet. “Just... Found 'em by the side of the road,” he explains, only confusing her so much more.

 

“Found who?”

 

Sophia takes a step forward, looking more nervous than she has in years.

 

“We couldn't just leave them,” she says, already a pleading quality to her voice even though Carol does not yet know what her daughter is asking. “It's getting so cold.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Carol asks again, ready to tear out her own hair.

 

There's a quiet little squeaky sound that she nearly misses, and all three of them freeze. Then another. And another. A whole choir of them. Little cries and what she thinks might be meows.

 

“What-”

 

“I-eh... I might've accidentally adopted five cats.”


	71. the morning after

The moment he wakes up, every muscle in his body tenses. For a few torturous seconds, he has no idea where he is, the small bedroom bathed in rosy sunlight unfamiliar. But then, slowly, memories of last night crawl to the forefront of his mind and he relaxes slightly against the soft sheets.

 

He'd only gone to the bar to get out of his apartment, to clear his head. What he didn't see coming was Carol. But there she'd been, sitting down on the stool next to him, smiling brightly and chatting away as if it was just a regular thing, people talking to him and smiling the way she was. Full of promise.

 

When she rested her hand on his thigh, he'd nearly bolted, but her touch was irresistible. Still, he'd had no ulterior motive in mind when he walked her home. In the end, his good intentions fell flat. Her lips had had been demanding, her hands roaming all over him, and she had his belt unbuckled and her skirt pulled up before the front door of her house fell shut with a loud thud. He'd been inside her not a second later, her heavy breaths damp against his neck. Nails clawing at his arms as he thrust up into her, long legs wrapped around his waist.

 

They'd stumbled through her dark house, her voice hoarse as she sighed vague directions in his ear. She fell apart beneath him then, fingers clutching her sheets, and he'd spent himself inside of her with a loud grunt, nearly crushing her when his arms grew too weak to support his weight.

 

The bed is empty now and Daryl sighs, ready to accept the guilt and shame his mind is attempting to push on him. He finds his pants and boxers by the foot of the bed and pulls them on, trying to make sense of what happened. His shoes are nowhere to be found, and he pushes open the bedroom door with his heart beating a little faster than usual. Having no idea what to expect feels a whole lot worse than a hangover would have.

 

He just needs to get out of here as soon as possible.

 

A heavenly scent meets him as he slowly walks into the open living space, and he can hear the quiet tune of a radio playing somewhere. All the windows are open, a warm breeze and the early morning sunlight touching his skin. A row of photographs lines the wall, a little girl featured in almost every single one of them. Assuming she's Carol's kid, he is suddenly worried he might have just screwed a married woman. But the complete lack of a man in any of the pictures pretty much speaks for itself.

 

_Oh, you're up._ Carol is standing by the stove, fully dressed and looking like she took a shower, too. Her cheeks are flushed and the smile she offers him is a little more strained than he remembers from last night. He's about to say that he'll best get going when she speaks again. _I didn't know what you like for breakfast so I made a little bit of everything._ She's pointing at a small array of plates on the kitchen table that he hasn't noticed until now. _There's bacon and eggs and some toast and I'm making some pancakes. But there's cereal in the cupboard if you prefer that._

 

She's holding out a cup of coffee now and Daryl doesn't really know what to do anymore so he walks up to her and takes it. _Black? I have cream somewhere and there's sugar in the-_

 

_'m good._ His interruption seems to startle her slightly, and she looks down at her bare feet, fingers fidgeting with the spatula she's holding. Daryl takes a sip of the coffee, looking down at the chocolate chip pancakes she somehow threw together along with everything else. _Ya didn't have make me breakfast._

 

_I don't mind._ She takes a cautious step towards him, then seems to change her mind and retreat.

 

Daryl has no clue what to say after that. Hell, he's never done this before. Last time he was with a woman was years ago, and she most definitely didn't take him home. He wants to be polite after what they've done, tries hard not to look as grim as he usually does. But she seems nervous and a little afraid and that hurts him more than it should.

 

_This is awkward,_ Carol suddenly says, pressing out a weird sort-of-laughter. She looks up at him expectantly. He only nods, feeling stupid. _I've never done this before._ He remembers her repeating that over and over last night, up until he pulled her underwear to the side and pushed into her and she stopped forming coherent words altogether. And damn it if _that_ memory doesn't make him squirm. _I just wanted to know if anyone still..._ She trails off, and he doesn't miss the way her voice suddenly catches in her throat.

 

_Don't have to explain yourself,_ he reassures her, despite the fact that he's suddenly curious why she all but threw herself at him at the bar. If it had been up to him, he'd woken up alone in his own bed this morning, business as usual.

 

He can't quite tell if she’s grateful for his dismissal or annoyed by it. She busies herself with the pancakes for a moment, putting them on a golden-trimmed plate. _I had a nice time._ Her words take him by surprise, and when she turns and her eyes flicker down to his lips he can't help but swallow deftly at the tugging it causes in his groin. _Maybe we can start over._

 

Deciding that he doesn't care whatever the hell she means by that exactly, he nods, earning himself a bright and hopeful smile.

 

_Are you staying for breakfast, then?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't actually based on a prompt. I wrote this over a year ago but completely forgot to post it and stumbled across it today while sorting through some folders.
> 
> I hope you liked it :)


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